


Not in Peace and Not in War

by justrae2010



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dancing, Danger, Deserters, Drinking, False Identity, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Knife Wound, Language Barrier, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Russo-Japanese War, Soldiers, Suicidal Thoughts, Surgery, Survival, Travel, Violence, War, knife
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-12 01:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 69,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13536798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justrae2010/pseuds/justrae2010
Summary: Victor shivered in the cold, hands outstretched to the barely burning fire. Snow swirled slowly around him, wind whistling in his ear. Whistling what? He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t even tell where he was - somewhere in Eastern China, surrounded by tree and mountains, the enemy to the south and the home he could never return to in the north. Victor had nowhere to go.His hands trembled - he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from fear. He had plenty to be frightened of; the gunfire from Mukden, the threat of being caught and executed for desertion, starvation, the brutal elements …And the Japanese man asleep across the fire, hand clenched tight around the pistol that never left his sight.Victor was very much afraid of him.-Two deserters from enemy sides in the Russio-Japanese war struggle to survive in their escape, with nothing much more than their sheer will to stay alive against the elements, the wilderness... and just maybe the Russian army itself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set around the Battle of Mukden in the Russio-Japanese war in … 1905, if I remember right? I did not have much time to study much about it, so if there are errors about uniforms, historical accuracy, climate and other geographical points…. just pretend, okay?
> 
> Same with the survival stuff. I’m not Bear Grylls. 
> 
> I hope this fic makes as much sense in reality as it did in my head….(editing? What is editing? Proofreading? What is this alien concept)....
> 
> Done for Day One Victuuri Week.
> 
> Victor Prompt: Legends
> 
> Yuuri Prompt: Future
> 
> AU: Historical

Victor shivered in the cold, hands outstretched to the barely burning fire. Snow swirled slowly around him, wind whistling in his ear. Whistling what? He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t even tell where he was - somewhere in Eastern China, surrounded by tree and mountains, the enemy to the south and the home he could never return to in the north. Victor had nowhere to go.

His hands trembled - he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from fear. He had plenty to be frightened of; the gunfire from Mukden, the threat of being caught and executed for desertion, starvation, the brutal elements …

And the Japanese man asleep across the fire, hand clenched tight around the pistol that never left his sight.

Victor was very much afraid of him.

 

* * *

 

_ Victor ran, crashing through the forest like the Devil himself was at his heels, breath short and sharp in his lungs and blood spiked sharp with adrenalin. His arm burned, blood seeping from the wound into the thick material of his uniform sleeve and turning the green fabric crimson. He could smell it. And if he could, then maybe others could too. There was all sorts of stories that had gone round camp, of tigers, bears, savages ready to maul him the moment he turned his back- _

_ A twig snapped across the forest, behind his right shoulder. _

_ Victor heard it as sharp as a gunshot. _

_ He span on his heels, hand unsheathing the knife at this belt and heart leaping into his mouth. His eyes flashed wide, green spinning, endless green and brown of bark tornado-ing around him. It didn’t get a chance to steady. _

_ Not before something slammed into him from the trees. _

_ Victor screamed as he went down, blade sinking into soft flesh in front of him and his spine jolting as it hit the gnarled roots of the trees. A body fell on him, heavy and limp. Something hard pressed into Victor’s gut, the unmistakable barrel of hard metal – a gun! He’d know that shape anywhere, his own abandoned in the mud miles away somewhere. _

_ He was begging before he knew it. There was nothing dignified about it – rambling Russian blurted in between whatever screams came out of his mouth as fresh blood ran down his fingers from the blade, warm and sickly against his skin. _

_ The body at the end of the blade shuddered, shaking hard enough to rattle the handle out of Victor’s hands. _

_ They went straight to the pistol wedged between them, curling tight around the barrel and twisting it – away from him. If he could turn it round, barrel to the other soldier’s belly, get his finger round the trigger, then- _

_ “Yamero!” _

_ Victor froze, wide eyed. _

_ Round russet brown eyes stared down at him from above, eyelashes fringed with glistening tears and sweat. _

 

* * *

Victor had lost track of time. They walked, they stopped, they walked again… an endless cycle until nightfall came and they hunkered around whatever clearing they could find, teasing whatever warmth they could out of their miniscule fires. It was barely enough. They would be dead in days at the rate they were going.

He watched the Japanese man out of the corner of his eye every weary step of the way, feeling his sharp gaze already trained on him.

That, and the pistol.

 

* * *

 

_ The barrel was aimed between them – pointing off into the trees – but Yuuri didn’t dare relinquish his grip for anything. He kept his fingers stuffed around the trigger so the Russian couldn’t take it, couldn’t kill him with his own weapon. The knife dug into his shoulder was bad enough, flexing his muscles in the moment of frozen stillness to check the extent of his injury. His arm still moved, fingers still tight around his pistol. It was something, at least. _

_ The Russian’s hands were cold – frozen even! How long had he been out there, Yuuri wondered? He was drenched in sweat, clothes clinging to him and his face and hair streaked with mud. Above all, he looked terrified, eyes widening as they drank in the tan tint to Yuuri’s skin. _

_ Yuuri recognised that fear. He’d felt exactly the same when he’s seen the Soviet Union red stitched in the sleeves of the soldiers uniform. _

_ Finally though, he was quiet. He’d been screaming – God only knew what! – yelling at the top of his lungs the moment Yuuri had hit him like they weren’t both as dead as each other if anybody else found them. Yuuri wasn’t sure what was worse – being slaughtered by the savage Russian or being caught by his own forces and executed. He didn’t want to die. He’d do anything to stay alive, even just a few minutes longer. _

_ That was why, in the face of the Russian guns, Yuuri had turned tail and bolted. _

 

* * *

 

When nightfall came, sleep didn’t come with it. Exhaustion pulled at Yuuri’s every nerve and he longed to just pass out as best as he could over the garbled roots of the frozen forest floor, but he couldn’t - not while sharp crystal blue eyes watched him from across the dying embers of their fire, sharp as the knife holstered at the Russian’s belt.

His shoulder twitched in reminder.

 

* * *

 

_ He wasn’t dead, was Victor’s first breathless thought as the silence stretched on and neither of them moved. The Japanese hadn’t shot him, or wrenched the knife from his shoulder to carve him up, or anything else just as brutal as was the foreboding tales told back at base. He was still alive, soldier above him holding the gun away from them while another hand fisted in his uniform, holding him down. _

_ He must be in pain, Victor’s thought next, watching the way the soldier’s teeth gritted and his eyes watered as he eased back, half a fraction off of Victor. _

_ Neither one went to separate though – only one of them would be able to take the gun if they did. And more likely than not, the other one of them would be dead. _

_ Victor didn’t want to kill him. _

_ The man looked young – early twenties, maybe? – with smooth skin and eyes so terrified they had clearly never seen such horror before. Tears twinkled in his gaze, pain clashing into the russet brown of his irises. “ _ Kuso… _ ” _

_ What did that mean? It came out with a hiss and a wince, face twitching with pain and stabbed shoulder jerking. _

_ Victor didn’t speak Japanese. He only knew Russian. _

_ “Victor,” he said in his mother tongue, the arm flatted across his chest flexing its fingers, pressing his palm flush against his uniform.  _ Me _ , he wanted to say. His hand slapped at his chest, making the Japanese soldier jump. “Victor,” he said again. “My name – Victor. I’m Victor. Victor.” _

_ He wasn’t sure what he was doing – but talking had long been a tactic that had helped prolong his life for crucial precious seconds when it had counted, and with them locked in a stalemate over the gun and blade, he had nothing else left. He doubted the soldier spoke Russian, praying that he understood his body language even if he didn’t the words. _

_ Through the gasps, the soldier above him frowned. Confusion cut through the pain in his gaze, fingers loosening around the gun in shock for half a second before alarm flashed through his eyes and he tightened it again. It never even crossed Victor’s mind to wrench the weapon away from him. He didn’t want to kill anybody. That was why he’d ran after all – he was tired of killing, of watching men fall to his gun, the light leave Japanese eyes as his knife plunged into their hearts. _

_ He swallowed hard into the silence, counting his heartbeats as if he were treasuring the last ones he would likely have. _

_ The soldier moved. _

_ Victor flinched. _

_ He yelped before he could help it, Japanese man’s fist uncurling from his uniform and slapping against his own chest, pat reverberating between them. Something about his eyes glowed, round and desperate. He slapped his chest again, just as Victor had. _

_ “Y-Yuuri.” _

 

* * *

 

Yuuri wasn’t sure how many days had gone by before they finally found water - enough for them to be desperate enough to dive in face first when they finally found it!

The trickle of the stream was like music to Yuuri’s ears as he slapped his face into the river and gulped, lips so dry from dehydration that they cracked and blood spilled into his mouth alongside the water. He didn’t stop drinking. He didn’t dare. He just clawed his fingers into the forest floor at the stream edge from their tight grip around his pistol, and drank until he couldn’t breathe. Even then, he hesitated.

He came up with a gasp, sopping black hair smacking over his face with a wet slap. The cold air hit his wet skin like someone had hit him. It sharpened his senses in a heartbeat, chill running down his spine in cold dread.

He glanced up for Victor instantly. 

The Russian didn’t even see him - he was still slapping water to his mouth from cupped hands, running tracks in the thin layer of dirt and sweat caked over his face.

Yuuri couldn’t help but stare. Pale skin gleamed out with every wash of water, smooth and porcelain, his dry lips softening pinker with every gulp. Face clean, Yuuri could see sharp cheekbones to match his clean cut eyes and strong jawline, strands of his long pale hair falling out of its braid as some of the mud slid away. It suited him, Yuuri couldn’t help but think, framing his face prettily. 

And then his shirt fell away. 

Colour flooded Yuuri’s cheeks as the Russian stripped it back from his torso to reveal a lean, strong chest, Victor slipping from the sleeves with a wince and wrapping them around his waist. Blood stained down his bicep, dark and dry.

He hissed as he splashed water against the small wound clipping his arm, blood loosening as his fingers massaged the stained skin. The bullet had gone right through him, Yuuri realised, watching the Russian quietly. Victor twisted and turned to reach the dark circle at the back of his arm from where the bullet had left him, but his face scrunched up in pain as he did, fingers paused just an inch away like they were held back by some invisible force. Victor’s shoulders shuddered, fingers straining to reach.

He couldn’t.

And without cleaning, that wound was bound to get infected. Yuuri knew. Yuuri had seen it happen to others. An infection out here would be a death sentence.

He didn’t flinch when Victor looked up with a grimace and caught his eye, surprise slapping his expression blank. It made Yuuri’s heart skip a beat, face hot as he turned his own eyes back to the water - obviously, he hadn’t been as subtle in his observations as he’d thought… he still looked out of the corner of his eye though, just enough to catch the Russian’s expression lighten.

“Moya ruka…” Victor said with a flicker of a smile, bright eyes glittering. His hand motioned to his injured arm, shoulders shrugging.

Yuuri didn’t understand his words.

But he understood his body, fingers twitching around his gun on impulse. Victor’s knife was still sheathed at his belt though, lightened eyes holding Yuuri’s effortlessly. He was no threat. 

The corners of Victor’s lips lingered upturned in a small, hopeful grin and Yuuri realised he’d never seen the Russian smile before. He hadn’t smiled himself since he’d left the army. Cold, starving, wounded, and slowly but almost surely dying, what did he have to smile about? 

Victor.

The first person to smile at him since he left home.

Yuuri inched forward along the bank of the stream and wet his fingers, his mouth twitching in the corners to match Victor’s small smile. It wasn’t much - but it made something in Victor’s eyes shine.

Yuuri watched the muscles in Victor’s torso ripple and flex as he turned around slowly, watching Yuuri over his shoulder and brushing his long, stiff braid out of the way. Yuuri was embarrassed to admit it … but he liked it. He liked the light dancing in Victor’s eye, the gentleness to his smile that Yuuri hadn’t known could exist in a Russian, and the softness of his skin beneath his fingertips as he trickled water over the back of his pale arm, goosebumps rippling over his smooth skin in response.

He rubbed the blood away and gently as he could, not brave enough to hold Victor’s eye for those sharp inhales of pain and the grit of his teeth. He just held his gun tighter, and tried to remember what Victor was above all else - Russian. The enemy.

 

* * *

 

_ “Ya podchinyayus'. Ty ponimayesh' menya? Ya podchinyayus'.” _

_ Yuuri had no idea what the Russian – no,  _ Victor  _ – was saying, words slow and curled carefully around his tongue but it made no difference when Yuuri didn’t speak a word of Russian. He had no desire to. No need to. He’d never imagined this would happen to him. _

_ The spark of electric blue in the Russian’s eyes was slowly settling into a serious, deep set sea green. It reminded Yuuri of his hometown by the ocean. His breath caught. _

_ And the Russian slowly uncurled his fingers from the barrel of the pistol. _

_ “Pozhaluysta ...” he said, eyes holding firm with Yuuri’s as he turned his palms up, by his shoulders. Surrender, Yuuri recognised with wide eyes. “Ya podchinyayus'. Ne strelyay v menya ...” _

_ The gun went off. _

 

* * *

 

Victor wasn’t sure when he first started to notice it. Maybe it was the dehydration. Maybe it was the sting of cold that he never seemed to be able to shake off his skin. Maybe it was the starvation. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Victor wasn’t sure what it was.

… but Yuuri had nice eyes.

A deep russet that darkened to like chocolate and lightened to pale cinnamon with the changes in the light, flecked with gold and fringed with dark, thick eyelashes.

Victor couldn’t stop looking at them, glancing over whenever he got the chance. It was his small joy in a bleak situation. Through the cold nights and the endless trudging on through the never ending forest, those glittering brown eyes gave him something to lift his head for, to look ahead to beyond his own waning strength.

He’d lost track of how long they’d been walking now and thus how long since they’d eaten. Yuuri didn’t have anything on him. Nothing grew on the trees. No animals darted by and no fish swam in the stream they followed.

All Victor had was a pack of dry, hard biscuits he’d stolen before he’d ran, and they weighed heavy in his pocket like a rock.

He hadn’t told Yuuri.

He’d been hoping to save them, clinging until when they might  _ really  _ need them before he nibbled away at their only food. They didn’t know how much further they had to go. If the biscuits ran out, they had nothing left. They would starve. That was why Victor had saved them until now, had fought the urge to ease the pain clawing at his insides.

Only now, every step he took felt like he’d ran a marathon. The sparkle had gone from Yuuri’s russet brown eyes.

They weren’t just hungry anymore - they were  _ starving _ .

Victor pulled the biscuits out of his pocket with a traitorous crackle of dry paper, eyes low and guilt churning. Would Yuuri be mad that he’d held onto them for so long without telling him? Would he steal them? Would he fight Victor for them? Out here, they could mean the difference between life and death and there wasn’t much to go around…

Yuuri flinched at the crinkle of paper like Victor had shot at him, but his head didn’t lift, eyes didn’t wander over. He just watched where he walked with a quivering lip, like every step took all of his energy to take.

Victor’s heart ached at the sight - or maybe that was the hunger again.

Either way - “Yuuri.”

Yuuri blinked up.

His eyes wavered like he was struggling to find Victor, shaky and unsteady. That was bad, Victor thought, heart sinking.

He snapped the biscuit in his hand without a second thought.

Yuuri’s eyes watered instantly, gasp pulling through his lips. He followed the biscuit like it was the centre of his universe, tongue darting out to wet his lips. His eyes shot wide, colour draining from his face as he watched the biscuit close the gap towards him. He took it from Victor with shaking fingers, staring down at the morsel of food like he could hardly believe it was real.

Then he flickered his gaze up to Victor, glittering with unshed tears and shining with something Victor couldn’t even put words to.

“Arigatou,” was all Yuuri said in a fragile voice, lip quivering.

Victor had no regrets.

 

* * *

 

_ More shots. More firing. Only it hadn’t come from the gun wedged between them. _

_ That was bad. _

_ Yuuri glanced over his shoulder and Victor took the distraction to hook his leg around Yuuri’s and tip them, hand slapping over the Japanese man’s mouth, muffling his yell. More blood leaked from the knife in his shoulder, staining his khaki uniform dark. Pain clouded his eyes, tears streaming down his face and wetting Victor’s fingertips. _

_ He was quick, spare hand wrestling with Yuuri’s fingers - he wrenched the gun out of the Japanese man’s grip, thumbing back the hammer the moment it was free. _

 

* * *

 

That night, they lay around the fire with a lightened air. With muscles relaxed and eyes soft, fingers loose around weapons and eyelashes fluttering with slow, lazy blinks. Gazes were curious instead of watchful and mistrusting, staring at each other over the sizzling ashes crackling up into the air as the flames died.

Victor wasn’t sure what made Yuuri’s eyes start to water, tears sliding over his cheek with fast blinks, the rest of his body still relaxed like nothing was happening. He didn’t sob, or scream. He just wept silently, eyes glittering like the stars watching them from through the treetops.

All Victor knew was the clench in his heart and the throb in his arm as he crawled forward a few precious inches and reached around the fire.

His fingers tangled carefully with Yuuri’s in the darkness, squeezing firm.

He watched Yuuri’s gasp with bated breath. He watched the jolt that ran through the Japanese soldier and the wide blink of his eyes, tears clearing with every stunned sweep of his eyelashes. 

He didn’t pull away though.

In fact, he shuffled  _ closer. _

Victor’s lips pulled in a soft smile as Yuuri gripped back, lacing his fingers through Victor’s and squeezing with glowing eyes. Victor watched the starlight bounce off them until he fell into the steadiest sleep he’d had since his desertion.

 

* * *

_ Victor was breathing hard, staring down at Yuuri with wide, glistening eyes and an armed gun in his hand, fingers tense around the trigger - ready to fire. All he had to do was point down. Yuuri’s heart leapt in his mouth, life flashing before his eyes. _

_ He was going to kill him. _

_ “Do svidaniya, Yuuri.” _

Do svida _ … didn’t that mean goodbye? God – Victor really was going to kill him! Ice gripped Yuuri’s heart and his eyes bolted wide, sob choking through his lips. He cried for his life. _

 

* * *

 

Victor jumped when Yuuri tripped over a tree root, heart leaping into his mouth and eyes shooting to the gun in Yuuri’s hand, praying -  _ praying _ \- that Yuuri didn’t squeeze in a panic and-

Yuuri’s spare hand slapped against a tree, catching himself before he toppled. 

“ _ Kuso… _ ” 

He glared down at the tree base with dark eyes like that had been the very thing that had tripped him, fingers curling in the bark.

Victor watched the one with the pistol.

He didn’t realise he’d gasped - not until Yuuri jumped at the quiet sound and glanced up, eyes softening the moment they found Victor into something rounder and softer. His cheeks dusted pink, lips hovering open.

Victor tried to ignore the way his heart jumped inside his chest. 

Especially when Yuuri swallowed hard and straightened up, eyes falling to the pistol in his hand. His fingers uncurled from around the trigger, letting the gun sit in his open palm. He glanced at Victor out of the corner of his eye, colour darkening on his cheeks.

What did that mean?

Victor’s heart was still in his mouth when Yuuri reached back and carefully tucked the pistol into the back of his belt, wincing at the strain on his cut shoulder.

Still, he straightened up - hand gunless.

Victor just stared.

“ Ikimashou,” Yuuri murmured, pale cheeks a full blown red now as he cleared his throat and stepped forward, carefully avoiding meeting Victor’s gaze exactly.

He’d never been without his pistol. That gun had stayed firmly in his hand from the moment he and Victor had turned tail into the trees together - even when he slept, fingers curled tight around the weapon that made him feel safe with Victor. Everytime fear had flashed in Yuuri’s eyes, everytime he flinched at Victor moving too suddenly, his fingers would twitch around the pistol for comfort. Victor hadn’t blamed him. They had been enemies after all.

Only now it was tucked firmly into the back of his belt as he walked on, carefully stepping over a root like the one he’d just tripped on.

Victor’s heart skipped a beat that Yuuri trusted him so much.

 

* * *

 

_ The gun hit the mud, Victor freeing his hand to press both over Yuuri’s mouth, to keep him silent. _

_ “Sh, sh,” he whispered urgently, eyes darting up the scan the line of trees around them as if the battle they had both deserted would come bursting through in all its hellfire at any moment. “Please be quiet. Please.” _

_ He should go, he thought to himself. He’d been all ready to empty the gun and leave the Japanese soldier to his fate… and then he’d started crying. Loudly. _

_ Victor wouldn’t get very far if soldiers swarmed the area the moment he left, Japanese or Russian. People knew he’d deserted after all, had shot at him as he ran … they would come hunting for him sooner or later, regardless of the outcome of the battle. He couldn’t stay. He had to go. _

_ But he couldn’t leave Yuuri like this, screaming and with his knife buried in his shoulder. They’d both be as dead as each other. _

_ He could fix one thing at least… _

_ Victor curled his fingers around the hilt of the blade - and pulled. _

 

* * *

 

They were going to die. Yuuri was convinced of it now - he was going to die in that Chinese forest with that good looking Russian at his side, trees neverending, stream whistling in his ear mockingly, not enough to keep them alive for much longer. It couldn’t possibly. Not if they didn’t find proper food. 

And they had another problem.

_ Yuuri  _ had another problem.

His shoulder hurt. The skin felt hot under his shirt, despite the chill in the air, heartbeat heavy in his shoulder, throbbing from his wound.  _ That was bad _ , he thought to himself, wincing as an off step sent vibrations ricocheting up his arm and hand shooting the burning shoulder on instinct.

Victor noticed. 

“Bol'no?” he asked, fingers touching the back of Yuuri’s good shoulder carefully and watching Yuuri with bright blue eyes clashed with concern. “My mogli by ostanovit'sya …”

Yuuri didn’t have a clue what he’d said but he nodded anyway, following Victor’s stead as he crouched down on his knees at the riverside. The water looked deeper where they’d stopped, trees sparser as the stream pooled into a wide crevice before thinning out further through the forest. Everything was quiet. Peaceful.

Victor’s eyes lingered on Yuuri’s shoulder, fingers carefully pulling his collar down. His gaze flickered up to Yuuri’s, touch paused at Yuuri’s collarbone. “Mogu li ya?”

The glitter in his eyes caught Yuuri off guard, air punching out of his lungs the moment he met it with his own. He hadn’t expected that, heart skipping a beat at his own reaction. He couldn’t help it - those bottomless pools of crystal were just spellbinding, framed with pale strands of baby hair that looked almost silver in the sunlight through the clearing in the trees. Pink lips paused parted, brow furrowed with concern. Concern for Yuuri...

Yuuri prayed Victor didn’t notice how shaky his next breath was. He nodded once, not trusting himself to do anything more than that. He was ready to agree to anything Victor asked in that moment.

His face burned as Victor shuffled closer and popped the taller buttons on Yuuri’s shirt, feeling the fabric slow and carefully. Yuuri winced when it peeled away the dried from his wound with it, gluing the material to his shoulder. Victor was careful not the touch the inflamed skin and Yuuri didn’t dare look down - the sharp hiss of air through Victor’s lips told Yuuri all he needed to know, heart sinking. It was bad. It must be bad. 

Still, Victor looked up at him and fixed a quick -  _ stiff  _ \- smile on his face, usually bright eyes dampened. That was even worse sign than his hiss. 

“Voda …” he said softly, nodding back to the pool of water beside them. “Vy dolzhny popast' v vodu.” 

Yuuri just stared.

Victor’s lips parted with a sharp inhale, eyes glancing upward, humming thoughtfully. “Um…” he chewed on his lip as he thought. Yuuri tried to ignore the way his attention bolted to Victor’s lips as he did. “Myt'?” Victor finally settled on, hands running up and down his body, pointing back to the water behind him.

It took a few moments for it to click in Yuuri’s brain.  _ Washing _ , he finally caught on, eyes widening in realisation. Victor thought he should wash the wound.

Yuuri just froze.

The worst thing was that Victor was right. Keeping the wound clean was the only hope Yuuri had to bay off the budding infection, hope his body was strong enough to fight off the body of the attack.

But washing in front of  _ Victor…  _

He’d seen the Russian’s body when he’d cleaned his own wound on his arm, seen the firm muscles and lean physique of his torso. Yuuri didn’t look like that. Hell, he hadn’t even had that even when he’d been with the army! He’d carried extra weight, jiggled when he walked, and now with god only knew how long of near starving, his body was even less impressive than before, weak and wasting. 

Self consciousness aside, he didn’t want to expose his weakness. He’d kept himself together until now, battled on through the starvation and hardship like he was strong enough to bear it, helping each other to survive… but he didn’t want to reveal how vulnerable he really was behind it all, advertise how easy it would be for Victor to eliminate the one extra mouth to share his crackers with when they started to dangerously dwindle as they inevitably would. It would happen. If they didn’t break out of the forest soon, there was no other hope.

Panic must have shown on his face, Victor’s soft expression faltering and his eyes casting to the side, frowning hard. Yuuri could see his mind work furiously behind his eyes, pinching his chin between his thumb and forefinger.

What was he planning?

Yuuri had barely finished the thought before VIctor snapped his fingers and stood up abruptly, pulling his shirt off before he’d even straightened his knees.

Yuuri yelped before he could help it, hands slapping over his eyes as Victor’s hands went to his belt. Heat burned at Yuuri’s palms from his flushed cheeks, only darkening further when he heard the unmistakable crumple of material hitting the ground. Victor’s trousers, he pieced together. Yuuri groaned hard, ignoring the sting of pain from his shoulder, face almost as hot as his infected wound.

Something splashed. 

Yuuri flinched against the loud noise cutting through the silence of the forest, smashing the tranquility.

Until soft, melodic laughter joined it. 

“Yuuri!” Victor’s voice carried, light and carefree. He laughed again, sound going straight to the hammering heart behind his ribs. “Kak eto! Voda otlichnaya!”

Yuuri peeked through his fingers. 

Victor was waist deep in the water, body on shameless display despite the wasting away of his own figure just like Yuuri’s, looking significantly more gaunt than Yuuri remembered as he splashed in the water. His own wound doesn’t look too good either, an angry red creeping down to his elbow from the bullet wound.

Yuuri pretended not to notice. He just smiled at the heart shaped smile that Victor beamed his way, at the way he splashed and laughed in the water, head tipping back and fingers running through his loosening, long locks.

He looked like he was having fun. It was nice to see it.

Yuuri’s hand went to his shirt front and pinched open a few more buttons, content to join Victor in the water and hear more of that laugh and see more of that smile up close for himself. 

Victor straightened up in the water, fingers combing through his hair and loosening the once braided strands, falling long and beautiful to his waist. Water droplets cascaded over his smooth pale skin making Yuuri’s throat run dry, glittering in the sunlight as they flickered off Victor’s hair from his fluffing fingers. He shook the silver strands loose around him, washed out mud darkening the water around him. 

Silver. 

Not typical Russian blonde, but silver.

Yuuri’s blood ran cold - there was only one person in the Russian army who had silver hair like that. The legend of Russia’s forces, the most feared soldier amongst their ranks, savage and brutal in his slaying of the enemy.

Victor  _ Nikiforov. _

Yuuri’s Victor was  _ Victor Nikiforov. _

 

* * *

 

_ Yuuri let out a bite of pain behind Victor’s fingers, blade slicing through his skin as it pulled out. What next, Yuuri wondered? He’d lost his pistol, he was pinned down, with a fiery eyed Russian bearing down on him with a knife, still red with his own blood… the silver glinted in the light through the trees, mocking and cruel. He couldn’t stop crying, tears leaking from his eyes and carving tracks through the dirt staining Victor’s fingers. _

_ What was next, Yuuri wondered? Blade through his heart? Across his throat? Victor’s hand was still clamped tight over his mouth – he obviously wanted him quiet. What was the quietest way to kill a person? _

_ Yuuri wasn’t going to go down quietly though. _

_ He wasn’t going to give up. _

_ He bit and bucked, teeth sinking into Victor’s fingers at the same his hips knocked Victor unsteady above him, overbalancing and leaning hard on Yuuri’s mouth. Yuuri wedged his knee between them, remembering what little drill training they’d had back in Japan – he kicked out, rolling Victor over his head. The knife fell out of Victor’s hand, bouncing off a tree root. Yuuri didn’t see where it went.  _

_ He just gasped the moment Victor’s hand peeled off him, air shooting too fast into his lungs and sending him spluttering. He rolled away as he coughed, scrambling along the ground for the knife, the gun - anything! Everything looked the same through his watery vision, blurred with tears. If he didn’t find something then Victor would- _

_ A hand fisted in the back of his shirt, yanking him back. Yuuri fell back with a yelp, jabbing his elbow back on instinct more than anything else. _

_ Victor spluttered satisfyingly in his ear, doubling over and fingers going slack. _

_ Yuuri kicked away like his life depended on it, scrambling to put distance between them as soon as he felt Victor’s grip shake off him. He turned mid-stride, back thudding against a tree.  _

_ Victor was on his hands and knees, an arm wrapped around his stomach and blood dripping  from his mouth, coughing hard and gasping. Crimson trailed from the corner of his lips as he looked up, eyes sharp and primal. His lips quivered with his next breath, unsteady and uneven, chipped and broken. _

_ He wasn’t the only one.  _

_ Yuuri was sucking in trembling breaths as his knees hit the forest floor, still holding Victor’s eye. Sweat ran down his hairline, blinking off his eyelashes. Or was it tears? Yuuri couldn’t tell anymore. _

_ But he knew the shine of metal - catching that unmistakable shimmer out of the corner of his eye in a heartbeat. _

_ His head turned.  _

_ Victor’s followed. _

_ They both saw the knife and pistol at the same time, laid side by side in the dirt a few paces away from the soldiers. Yuuri’s breath caught, darting his eyes up to Victor. _

_ The Russian did the same. _

_ Both eyed up their weapons and flexed their fingers, waiting for someone to make the first fatal move, both ready to kill when they did. _

 

* * *

 

Victor tried hard not to cry as he watched Yuuri across the fire’s embers when night fell, watched the watery eyes stare back at him through the darkness, fingers curled tight around his pistol tucked to his chest. It was back. The pistol was back. Victor felt it as painfully as if Yuuri had shot him through with it rather than just hold it, the distrust and fear in his eyes and posture more than obvious.

And it had started the moment Victor had carelessly washed his hair, trademark infamous hair falling free and mocking in the water, betraying him.

Of course, Yuuri knew of him. 

Of course, Yuuri was scared of him.

The Russian army had heralded him a hero of the country, trained him to be the best so much so that his reputation carried beyond the battlefield, beyond just the knowledge of their own forces. The world knew of him. The world feared him. And now, Yuuri did to. He wasn’t just Victor anymore in Yuuri’s eyes, Russian soldier he had saved from inevitable death - he was Victor Nikiforov, who had slaughtered countless of Yuuri’s comrades with frightening precision, merciless and deadly. 

Victor wasn’t proud of it. 

He’d laid down his knife a few paces away, just to show Yuuri he meant no threat, that he wasn’t a danger, actions the only way they could communicate. 

Only it hadn’t been enough. 

Yuuri hadn’t stopped crying, hadn’t let go of the pistol, and hadn’t stopped watching every move Victor made like a hawk, even as tiredness obviously pulled at his eyelids and the night crept on hour by slow hour …

It killed Victor to see him like that, to see the distrust in Yuuri’s eyes everytime he looked at him. And he always looked at him - he was too frightened to look away, to take his eyes off Victor for even a moment. Victor noticed. He noticed everything. The barrel of Yuuri’s gun peeked out at him from behind Yuuri’s tightly clutching fingers, laughing cruelly at him, mocking him. Just when he’d started to hope they’d survive this together, that maybe when they found civilization again Victor would have something left to cling to - someone left to cling to.

That hope dwindled now, feeble and flickering. One last sharp blow could blow it out for good, Victor thought miserably.

He didn’t want to be Russia’s assassin anymore.

Swallowing the hard lump in his throat, Victor let his gaze fall away from Yuuri’s, sigh falling from his lips as he sat up, movements slow and careful for Yuuri to track them. He didn’t want to startle him, to trigger that pistol. The fire was dead between them. Stone, cold dead, embers burned down to ash.  

The knife glinted in the moonlight. 

Victor picked it up as he stood, not brave enough to look at Yuuri’s miserable eyes one last time before he turned and disappeared into the trees.  

 

* * *

 

_ Victor was crying. He didn’t realise he’d started crying, tasting the dirt tinged salt run over his lips as he held Yuuri’s eye, waiting. _

_ Neither one dared move. _

_ Yuuri looked just as scared as he felt - pale and wide eyed, badly body shaking. “Onegai…” whispered from his lips, barely audible over the shadow of gunfire in the distance. “Onegai…” _

_ Victor didn’t know what that meant.  _

_ His body hurt; his bullet shredded bicep, his throat, his legs, his eyes, his hand, his gut … he wasn’t sure how much strength he had left in him to fight a younger, skilled - and most importantly,  _ desperate  _ \- soldier. And if Yuuri got hold of a weapon, Victor certainly wouldn’t be betting on himself to be walking away from this. His chances looked bleak. Whether he had the physical strength was only one issue though - the other was whether he even had the  _ will  _ to keep fighting. _

_ The thought bubbled a quiet sob from his lips, shoulders slumping. His chest quivered with weak, trembling breaths.  _

_ Even if he didn’t understand the words Yuuri had said, he suddenly understood the feelings behind them. The same terror tearing at his heart stared back at him through those russet brown orbs, pleading, begging, frightened out of their senses and longing for it all to end. They’d both fled the fight after all, even from different sides. _

_ Victor was willing to bet it was for the same reason. _

_ “Please…” he found himself begging, blinking hard and fast through the water welling in his eyes and the hitch in his breath. His heart felt like a stone in water inside his chest, weighing down, drowning him... “I don’t want to fight anymore...” _

_ Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad, he reasoned to himself through his sobs. Quiet, peaceful - that was what death was supposed to be like, right? _

_ It was  _ dying  _ that was the painful part. _

 

* * *

 

Yuuri had followed him. Of course he had followed him - Victor had walked off with a knife in his hand, blue eyes damp with defeat and mouth set in a bitter, determined grimace. Determined to do what? Yuuri wondered, fingers tightening around his pistol. What could he do in the dead of night with a knife?

_ Nothing good _ , Yuuri thought, heart aching in his chest.  _ Nothing good… _

He moved as quietly as he could, but he still rustled, boots making the softest of noises against the crunching wintery leaves littering the forest floor and breaths sounding impossibly loud, misting in front of his face.

He just hoped Victor didn’t hear him. He didn’t want to give his position away. What if Victor was planning an attack, to slay Yuuri while he slept?

Yuuri couldn’t be noticed. 

He’d tracked what he could see of the disgruntled forest floor, the fresh upturned leaves and footprints in the mud going against their earlier advancing tracks. They were going back to the pool, Yuuri realised. Where Yuuri had first realised who Victor was. 

He held back as he noticed the trees thinning, ducking behind a tree trunk and peering through the last few forest layers for a glimpse of the water, glittering in the moon and starlight. 

Someone knelt at the riverside.

Someone with long silver hair folded over one shoulder.

_ Victor _ .

Yuuri watched on silently, finger curling around the trigger of the pistol and lifting it higher, flat of it against his shoulder, ready to straighten his arms and fire at a moment’s notice if he needed to.

He prayed he didn’t. He wasn’t ready for that.

From the riverside, the knife glinted. Yuuri’s breath caught. Victor still had the knife, knelt at the side of the river with the flat of the blade held level with his neck, catching the moonlight in a deadly flicker. It made Yuuri’s blood run cold with dread, remembering Victor’s miserable, lifeless eyes and the droop of his shoulders - like a man who had given up.

_ Surely he wouldn’t _ , Yuuri gasped silently in his head, mouth hanging open in shock and blood pounding thick in his ears. _ He couldn’t... _

But why not?

Victor had looked miserable, and they were barely surviving with no end in sight. Perhaps he’d made a decision. Perhaps he wanted to end his suffering, taking matters into his own hands…

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat at the mere thought, the idea of Victor’s body going slump and limp, blood spilling from his open throat as the life drained out of him. He would leave Yuuri. Leave him alone to face the unknown future all by himself, whether it be freedom or death - death that Yuuri wasn’t brave enough to welcome like Victor seemingly was. Yuuri fought until the bitter end, even when he knew it was the more painful route. He couldn’t help it. He was too frightened of the alternative.

He didn’t dare look away from Victor, wide eyes glued to his every move. How his fingers stroked through his long hair one last time. How his head tipped back slightly. How his shoulders stiffened, fingers tightening around the blade-

The knife cut across.

Yuuri screamed.

He couldn’t help it. Hands slapped over his mouth the moment the sound escaped but it did nothing to stop the screams, knees folding beneath him and shoulder slamming into the tree trunk to hold him upright. His shoulder screamed. His eyes stung. He didn’t care. He just waited for the spray of blood at the riverside, crimson leaking into the crystal clear of the water...

Victor’s body jolted at the riverside at Yuuri’s scream and his hair caught in the moonlight as it moved, flowing and rippling in the light … falling. It was falling.

His long locks slipped over his shoulder in a cascade of silver, rolling with all the fluidity and grace of a waterfall, severed ends sharp and abrupt. They fell away from his shoulder, pooling on the ground at Victor’s hips in a bed like starlight. 

The knife had cut his hair too, as well as-

Yuuri couldn’t finish the thought.

His head fell forward, not wanting to see anymore. He didn’t want to watch his only companion fall, body slipping into the water that only hours earlier he’d been laughing in, that same water that had undone everything… Yuuri’s eyes blurred, stinging with tears. Of course Victor had chosen here, Yuuri thought, heart tugging with the cruel irony. Of course he’d decided to end it there…

What would he do? Yuuri’s mind started to think about the unthinkable, forced to. He would have to keep going, keep walking. He would have to leave Victor behind. 

Victor still had some last crackers in his pocket. Yuuri wasn’t sure he was brave enough to take them. Starving was a terrifying prospect, but the thought of having to wade into the water to his companions body, roll him over to find the pocket and being forced to look at those cold, dead eyes that had once looked at him with such a glow, bordering on happiness in their neverending hell-

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri blinked up.

Bright blue eyes stared down at him, framed by short silver bangs that hung messily by Victor’s chin, his face pale and eyes wide with shock.

_ Victor... _

Yuuri didn’t think.

He just gasped in a breath as he threw the pistol down to the ground and launched his arms around Victor’s neck, hugging him close - hugging him  _ tight  _ \- and burying his face in the Russian’s shoulder, letting his free flowing tears wet his uniform shamelessly. He didn’t care. He was just so glad to see Victor - alive! He pulled Victor close, breath sighing out of him as he felt Victor’s fast heartbeat pressed between them, the strong thump comforting to his shattered nerves. He fluttered his eyes shut with the swell of Victor’s chest as he breathed, whispering prayers of thanks over the Russian’s shoulder.

_ His hair _ , Yuuri realised, heaving in a lightheaded breath against Victor’s uniform, eyes blurring. Victor had cut his hair, silver locks hanging in an uneven bob around his neck and chin, ends chopped and clumsy. His throat was perfect. Not a scratched, not a cut, not a severed windpipe… he was fine. He was absolutely fine.

Yuuri choked a laugh against Victor’s shoulder. He could hear how crazy he sounded, but he didn’t care. He really didn’t care. Victor was okay - that was all he cared about.

Victor’s hands cupped Yuuri’s upper arms and unwound them from his neck, Yuuri’s shoulder throbbing under the movement. He hadn’t noticed until then. 

“Yuuri?”

Victor sat back on his heels and stared down at Yuuri with a glittering frown, bright blue eyes clashed with confusion. His hands didn’t let go of Yuuri, following the length of his arm to his hands, loosely tangling their fingers together.

Yuuri just smiled through his tears, peeling one hand away. “Your hair,” his head shook, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks but not feeling one bit embarrassed or ashamed as he reached up and pinched the ragged ends of Victor’s shortened hair between his thumb and forefinger. “You cut your hair…”

Victor’s eyes just flickered down to Yuuri’s fingertips, looking more confused than before even as his frown smoothed out in surrender. 

Yuuri just giggled, meeting Victor’s eye. “You look ridiculous.” 

He knew he was acting just as ridiculous as Victor looked, but he didn’t care, relief unlocking a boldness in him that he hadn’t realised he’d had. He felt the need to  _ look  _ at Victor - to look at him like he might never see him again, to memorise him.

So he did.

His fingers threaded up through Victor’s hair and pushed it carefully back from his face, unveiling those sparkling blue eyes to him unguarded. 

The moment he let go, Yuuri knew the hair would tumblr back and hide Victor’s pretty face from him again in a way it never had when it had been braided back. It wasn’t long enough for that anymore. And Yuuri wasn’t ready to stop looking, wanting to examine every inch of his pale skin and every slight freckle over his nose and cheeks, follow the curve of his pink lips and drown in those blue eyes...

Slowly, Victor’s lips curved up in a smile.

“Pomogi mne?” 

Yuuri didn’t even need to ask before Victor plucked the knife from his belt and offered it out to him by the handle, pinching the blade between his fingers. A sparkle danced in his eyes, glittering with something Yuuri didn’t dare name.

But he did dare to smile, matching Victor’s grin and holding his eye with a thumping heart. He took the knife.

The first strand of hair he cut felt like cutting away a barrier. He held the locks out and slowly carved the blade through the silky strands, relief bubbling under his skin as the silver strands shortened inch by inch the more he cut. He didn’t hack. He cut carefully, taking care with every strand. He cut Victor out of the image of the assassin. He carved out  _ his _ Victor. His Victor, with short hair on the underside with the higher strands still long enough to to move with his shake of the head and giggle, fingers threading through his new hair do. 

A new man stared back at him. Not a soldier, not an assassin - not even a Russian. Just Victor, smiling and happy, fingers tucking his newly trimmed bangs back from hanging over his left eye to behind his ear. Yuuri’s Victor.

 

* * *

 

_ Yuuri didn’t want to kill Victor - and the way the Russian was breaking down before his eyes, said that he didn’t want to have more blood on his hands either.  _

_ Victor’s hands slapped over his mouth, muffling his cries, running up over his face to thread through his mud stained hair. It glued the strands back in their once neat braid, tucked at the base of his neck in a tangled mess of brown, black and pale blonde that shimmered in the sun. His once sharp eyes were swimming, darting wide from side to side like he was searching for something lurking around Yuuri’s knees. It frightened Yuuri to watch, heartbeat hammering in his chest. _

_ He didn’t know what Victor was saying but the Russian looked terrified, shaking and crying, making Yuuri’s own breath hitch just watching him. Was he praying? He’d seen plenty of men on their knees the last few weeks, praying - right before they were taken to the firing squad.  _

_ Did he think Yuuri was going to kill him too? _

_ His gun was just a leap away, easily in reach with Victor in his broken state. Yuuri bet he could get the gun in his hand and a bullet in Victor’s brain before the Russian even had the chance to scream. _

_ … but he didn’t want to. _

_ A distant blast made him jump, hands slapping over his mouth to cover his own shout. His heart pounded in his throat, eyes jumping to the trees.  _

_ They couldn’t stay.  _

_ But he couldn’t leave Victor.  _

_ The Russian looked a mess. Yuuri could see the slackness in his body, the hang of his head, and the bob of his back as he cried - if someone found him, he would be dead. Even with the knife. The fight was gone, the struggle that had flipped Yuuri on his back and bourne down on him just minutes ago just gone… he would be dead. And Yuuri was willing to bet he wouldn’t even lift his head when it happened. He looked defeated. _

_ Even if Yuuri didn’t pull the trigger, he would be the one that killed Victor. That blood would be on his hands. _

_ He couldn’t kill another one. _

_ His hand crept forward along the forest ground, slow and careful, fingers following the pattern of the tree roots. Victor didn’t move, didn’t look up - not until Yuuri’s fingers brushed over his, clawing at the dirt with a solid tremor. Victor’s bright blue eyes bolted up like electric, a sharp breath passing through his lips. _

_ Yuuri fought the urge to flinch, forcing himself to stay still. “ _ _ Ikimashou,” he said, holding Victor’s eye. “Let’s go.” _

_ Victor stopped. _

_ He just stopped.  _

_ His breaths froze in his lungs and his hands stopped trembling, eyes linked with Yuuri’s and watery gaze sobering with every ticking second. For a moment, Yuuri wondered if Victor had even heard him, or if he was in a new kind of shock. They didn’t have time for another breakdown. They had to go… _

_ Then finally -  _

_ Victor nodded, slow and deliberate. _

_ Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief. It flickered over his face before Victor’s head had even finished moving, pushing to his feet and pulling at Victor’s sleeves to do the same. The Russian hissed as Yuuri’s fingers dug into his arm, drawing back wet with blood. He’d been shot. Yuuri banked it away for a problem for another day. He could still move with a shot arm, just like Yuuri could with a stabbed shoulder.  _

_ Victor grabbed his knife. _

_ Y _ _ uuri grabbed his pistol, with one last look over his shoulder. The battle was behind them. He was going to keep it that way. _

_ He turned his eyes back to the forest - to Victor - and to his future. _

_ Whatever it held. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations all done by our good friend Google Translate. FYI:  
> Yamero - Stop  
> Kuso… - Shit...  
> Moya ruka… - my arm...  
> Ya podchinyayus'. Ty ponimayesh' menya? Ya podchinyayus'. - I surrender. You understand me? I surrender.  
> Pozhaluysta ...Ya podchinyayus'. Ne strelyay v menya ... - Please.. I surrender. Don’t shoot me.  
> Arigatou - Thank you  
> Do svidaniya - Goodbye  
> Ikimashou - Let’s go  
> Bol'no? My mogli by ostanovit'sya … - It hurts? We could stop?  
> Mogu li ya? - Can I?  
> Voda …Vy dolzhny popast' v vodu - Water… you should get in the water.  
> Myt'? - washing?  
> Kak eto! Voda otlichnaya! - LIke this! The water feels wonderful!  
> Onegai… - Please  
> Pomogi mne? - Help me?


	2. Chapter 2

By the time the trees started to thin out and Victor was able to see more than five meters ahead of him, he was worried it was already too late. Yuuri leaned heavily against Victor’s shoulder, his arm draped around Victor’s shoulders and his head hanging, feet dragging on the forest floor. More than once, they’d tripped - more and more, Yuuri was losing the strength to pick himself up again.

But when Victor saw bright sunlight peeking through the trees ahead of them, for the first time, in a long time, he smiled.

“Look, Yuuri,” he gasped in Russian, pausing to catch his breath. “The edge.”

Tears sprung to the corners of Victor’s eyes, feeling emotion choke his chest - he’d almost given up hope that they’d ever get out of that forest alive, waiting for the day when Yuuri would fall and wouldn’t get up again and Victor would have to choose between watching him die or abandoning him…

It wasn’t his decision anymore. For one day - one more blessed day! - he didn’t have to make the choice.

He knew Yuuri didn’t understand him, but the soldier lifted his head anyway at the sound of his voice, sweat fluttering off his dark eyelashes. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, the once sparkling russet brown now dull and faded. It worried Victor. It worried Victor very much...but then when they saw the dimming sunlight bright through the trees, they flashed wide. 

First with hope.

Then with fear.

He reached up with more strength than Victor thought he’d had, fingers curling in his damp uniform. “ _ Victor-san _ !”

His voice was hissed, strained - barely more than a whisper. It didn’t lose its edge as he went on in a flurry of Japanese, none of which Victor understood. He understood the frightened look in his companion’s eye though, understood the tension rippling through his body that had nothing to do with the infection firing through his veins. It made Victor pause, wary.

But only for a moment; after all, Victor had no real choice - they couldn’t stay in the forest forever. To leave the war, they had to leave the wilderness behind.

And their old selves with it.

If they stayed, Yuuri would die…

Victor stepped forward, mind made up. He couldn’t let Yuuri die. It was for him as much as for the Japanese soldier - the thought of being alone in his wanderings terrified him, the idea of nobody being there when he may eventually starve to death of succumb to exhaustion, nobody there to hold his hand through the pain… Victor gulped thickly, fingers digging into Yuuri’s shoulder. He needed him. He couldn’t let him die.

He expected Yuuri to follow - not that he’d have much choice - weak as he was. He didn’t expect for a moment that he would end up walking forward alone.

But that was exactly what happened.

Yuuri slipped out of Victor’s grip as the Russian stepped forward, holding his ground in the thickness of the forest. 

Victor paused, turning back. “Yuuri?” 

Yuuri just clung to the nearest tree, leaning his weight against it and breathing slightly heavier than a moment ago. It made Victor’s spine crawl with worry, watching the sweat bead on the man’s forehead from the effort. What was worse though, was the blazing determination in Yuuri’s eye, stronger than any other will his body possessed - it said  _ no. _

Victor glanced back over his shoulder at the sinking sunlight, bright through the trees. It looked so promising, so tempting. How could Yuuri not want to leave? 

“Yuuri, _ please _ ,” Victor begged, blinking away the tears in the corners of his eyes in desperation. “We have to go. We can’t stay here.”

Didn’t he understand? Didn’t he understand that he would die if they stayed there? He had to know he was in bad shape, feel the fever sap his strength and the pain flare in his wounded shoulder. How could he want to stay in the forest that signed his death sentence? If he wanted to die, the pistol he carried at his belt would be a hell of a lot faster than the poison slowly choking his blood...

Yuuri just shook his head though, adamant. Knuckles white as he righted himself against the tree, he staggered a step back.

It didn’t get any clearer than that.

Victor’s jaw set, eyes narrowing. 

“Fine,” he all but spat out, hands curling into fists at his sides and burning up his tears. “I’ll check it out first.”

He couldn’t keep out the bitter edge to his voice that superseded all translation, grimace pulling down his features just a second before his turned out of Yuuri’s sight. His hand found his dagger at his belt, just in case. He didn’t know what was beyond the forest. For all he knew, Yuuri was right to be afraid…

But he was going. He couldn’t stay in the forest any longer.

A hand curled around his bicep before he could take a step though, pulling him back. Victor was too weak to resist it.

He glanced back over his shoulder, blinking in surprise at the softened brown orbs waiting for him. They pleaded with him - even Victor could understand that.

Over his shoulder, Yuuri’s eyes pleaded with him. “ _ Shinaideyo _ .”

Victor didn’t know what it meant.

But he could guess.

His glare softened, heart tugging in his chest at the look in Yuuri’s eye. He was probably just as frightened as Victor, worried his companion’s death might lie outside the relative safety that had hid them for… God, how long had it been? Victor had started to lose track. He’d stopped counting a long time ago. The days had started to blur, time meaningless in forest beyond the chill of the day and the  _ cold  _ of the night. The fact Yuuri couldn’t feel it terrified Victor.

And Yuuri was just as scared, for different reasons. Reasons Victor didn’t understand. Not that it mattered - if he wanted Yuuri to live, he had to go. 

Victor sent an apology in his gaze, swallowing down his guilt. He had to… for Yuuri… “I’m sorry…” 

He wanted to pull away. He should have pulled away and just walked on - like a soldier, strong and determined … but instead he took one last look at Yuuri and stepped  _ back  _ instead of away, closing the gap between them. His hand slotted against Yuuri’s cheek, the motion easy and effortless. He felt Yuuri swallow thickly, watched his eyes widen - he also felt how hot Yuuri’s skin was to the touch. 

The fever was getting worse. It if it was, so was the infection. Yuuri wouldn’t last much longer in wilderness. He needed help.

Help Victor couldn’t give.

He had no choice.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, voice softer and calmer than he felt. His thumb stroked over Yuuri’s cheek gently. “I’ll be five minutes.”

His fingers slipped away, clinging on till the very last cell. He didn’t want to let go.

But he had to.

Or Yuuri would die. 

Victor swallowed the lump in his throat and held his hand up, splaying out his fingers. “Five minutes.”

He didn’t wait to see Yuuri nod or not - he wasn’t sure which would be worse anyway. He just turned and let his fingers thumb the dagger again, creeping through the slimming trees. 

He wasn’t sure what Yuuri was afraid of. There shouldn’t be any soldiers out here, he reasoned  - Japanese or otherwise - but what else could he be afraid of? Locals? Animals? The hairs on the back of Victor’s neck lifted in warning but he wasn’t sure of what, keeping his steps slow and silent, and his eyes poised on the break of the tree line, slipping behind the thickest trunks he could find the more they all thinned out. If Yuuri was right, Victor didn’t want to be seen.

Green spilled out ahead of him, filling the widening gaps in the trees. Green - with stripes of brown earth in neat, straight lines.

_ A farm _ , Victor pieced together long before he reached the forest edge, recognising the markings from his own rural upbringings back in Russia. He hadn’t come from much for an officer; he’d just scrapped his way for better, desperate to escape a life behind the plow.

Frost clung to the blades of grass, patching over the upturned earth. It was already cold, Victor’s breath misting in front of him as he pressed his back against a tree, straining his throbbing ears to listen for any kind of sound. His fingers tightened around the blade, ready for anything. Back in the depths of the forest, Victor could feel Yuuri’s eyes watching him but he couldn’t see the soldier, hidden amongst the trees.  _ Good _ , Victor thought. Even if something happened to him, maybe Yuuri could avoid getting caught too.

The thought made Victor’s gut churn, the idea of Yuuri slipping away and abandoning him to his fate in the hands of enemy soldiers - or his  _ comrades.  _ He would have no choice if he wanted to live himself, but the idea was still sickening for Victor, alone through pain and death after all…

The world was quiet on the other side of the tree, not a sound to be heard. Victor couldn’t take any chances though. It only took one wrong move to end up dead.

He turned his head slowly around the trunk, drinking in inch after precious inch of empty, blessed farmland. Green. White. Brown. The brilliant yellow of the sunset. Victor turned and turned, heart in his mouth, but there was no barrel of a gun that settled between his eyes or the flash of a knife. There was nothing, nobody.

No… not nothing.

Victor felt his jaw slacken, a gasp suck between his lips. 

Sat further along the treeline - on the edge of the vast farming field - was a barn. Tall, proud and strong, barely kissed by the frost and wood looking tired in the wilting sunlight - but to Victor it was a palace. A barn was shelter. A barn meant hay, and hay meant warmth, a night away from the whistling winter winds and the bitter biting chill.

He felt the whine of longing bubbling in his throat, the tears wetting his eyes all over again. If only his younger self could see him now, he thought, crying for a barn ...

Victor gave one last look around the empty field before he dared step away from the trees. Now he understood Yuuri’s reluctance. The moment he stepped out into the open, he felt exposed, a part of him longing to turn tail and bolt back into the trees, ducking himself out of sight and out of harm. Out in the open - even the empty open - felt  _ wrong  _ after so long in the close embrace of the trees.

Frost crunched under Victor’s boots and he winced as if a gunshot had gone off, twitching before he could help it. It was like he was just waiting for the sniper’s bullet to split his skull at any moment…

There was no sniper though, he told himself, braving another step forward. There was no sniper, no gunman, no soldier… just Victor and the field, and the barn.

The empty bar?

There was no lock on the door, Victor noticed the closer he got, fingers flexing around his knife. There was just a crude plank of wood that blocked the doors shut. It made Victor wary; he didn’t believe in good luck. And he certainly didn’t believe in coincidence. 

He danced the last few steps over the frostbitten ground, pressing his back flush against the wall of the barn the second it was in reach and raising the knife to eye level, ready... 

Victor paused, listening. 

He couldn’t hear anything, ear pressed flush against the icy wood. No voices, no livestock… nothing. Silence.

It wasn’t as comforting as he thought it would be.

His heart was still in his mouth, blood pulsing in his veins, and swallowing the dry lump in his throat like it was the last time he might savour the sensation. It wasn’t pleasant. But he remembered every parched morsel of air he sucked down all the same.

He pushed up the plank with gritted teeth and knees braced underneath him - heavier than he thought it would be. The exhaustion, the malnutrition…

Victor tried not to think about how that would fare him in a fight for his life if he could barely lift some wood, plank falling away from his hands and clunking on the hardened ground, loud and obvious. If there was anyone around, they’d have heard it. 

And Victor would be finished. 

He pressed his shoulder against the door, counting silently to himself, gathering his strength. It might be his last few seconds alive.

_ One….two… _

Victor’s fingers clenched around the knife, spare hand curling around the edge of the door, ready to open it.

_...three. _

He wrenched the door open - wood groaning and dagger bared - swinging round into the wide set doorway, when-

The knife dropped.

And Victor laughed.

_ “Ha _ …”

It was breathless and weak, arms slapping down to Victor’s sides in pure relief, in sick hilarity at the curveball fate had thrown at him. 

His head shook in disbelief, smile stretching across his face. 

“Yuuri!” he called over his shoulder, spinning round on his heels with a lightness he hadn’t felt since before he’d left Russia. It didn’t matter anymore about the noise. No one was around. No houses, no voices - nothing. Trees lined Victor’s right and fields stretched as far as his eyes could see to his left. They were alone. The trees didn’t move though. “Hey, Yuuri!” Victor’s arms waved back at the forest. “It’s okay! It’s safe!”

_ Safe…  _ that one word that was so dangerous, Victor hadn’t even dared think it until then, but in that moment, he knew. It may not last forever, but for now, they were safe. 

Yuuri wouldn’t know what he was saying though. Victor could be hollering a warning to stay away and Yuuri wouldn’t know the difference - if it weren’t for the near ludicrous bark of laughter that followed his words. Surely, Yuuri heard that?

Leaves rustled at the forest edge, and Victor’s breath caught.

Dark hair peered around a tree a second later.

Victor just smiled, waving Yuuri over. “Come on, Yuuri!” he called, grinning. “You’ve got to see this!”

The sun was setting, they needed shelter… but still Yuuri looked far from happy as his face popped out from behind the leaves, all nervousness and furrowed brow. His mouth hovered open - no doubt parted around warnings and questions that Victor wouldn’t be able to understand whether he voiced them aloud or not.

Victor’s beam just stretched wider.

He couldn’t wait anymore. 

Frost crunched under his boots as he stumbled to the forest edge, noise comforting instead of terrifying as it had been a few moments ago. Now, it was liberating. A luxury. Victor had never considered the freedom to make noise a luxury before.

Yuuri leaned back into the embrace of the forest as Victor got closer but he couldn’t scurry back in time to dodge the hand that reached for him, grabbing his uninjured arm and pulling him forward. He stumbled right out into the open - with a small yelp that Victor found utterly adorable - brown eyes scouring the terrain as Victor had done before him. Victor didn’t need to look a second time. He just pulled Yuuri towards the barn.

He could feel Yuuri pulling back against him. Not enough to break free again - Victor not sure he even had the strength left to do that a second time - but enough to show his reluctance, his wariness.

Victor ignored it. 

Once Yuuri saw, he would change his mind - Victor was sure of it. It was the best stroke of luck they’d had since they’d met. 

“ _ Victor-san! _ ”

The tone of Yuuri’s voice made him stop.

Victor paused, hand slackening around Yuuri’s arm. When he glanced back, wide, fearful brown eyes stared back at him, wounded shoulder slumped and breaths coming heavy.

Victor’s heart tugged. 

He needed to get Yuuri inside… but he didn’t want to frighten him either. He didn’t want to make Yuuri afraid or hurt him. The look on Yuuri’s face said that he was doing both. A frustrated whine bubbled in Victor’s chest as he glanced back to the barn, longing and desperate… but he didn’t want to force Yuuri against his will. He couldn’t…

“ _ Please _ …” he found himself begging, dropping his hold around Yuuri’s arm and stepping closer, eyes pleading with Yuuri’s. “Please. We need this…”

Yuuri more than anyone.

He didn’t understand though -  _ couldn’t  _ understand - those pretty russet brown eyes staring up at him blankly enough to betray as much, but Victor couldn’t bring himself to hurt them again by forcing him inside. He had one companion in this wilderness. Alienating him wouldn’t be a good idea.

But letting him die would be a worse one.

Victor’s hand reached out, palm open and fingers soft like he was reaching for a handshake. They both knew it was more than that though…

Victor swallowed thickly. “ _ Please...” _

He couldn’t leave him behind.

He watched the indecision tick behind Yuuri’s eyes, staring down at his hand like it was holding a grenade. For all Yuuri knew, it could be. It could be a trap, it could be absolutely anything that Victor was dragging him into, and he had no way of knowing until he saw - until it would be too late if his instincts were right. For one time, Yuuri just needed to trust Victor. Trust the man that had killed countless numbers of his comrades, who had the most feared reputation in the whole of the Russian army, who was death itself for any enemy soldier that dared come across him… Victor knew his reputation. He knew why Yuuri was hesitant. He couldn’t blame him.

But he’d also been the one to hold Yuuri when the nights were too cold in the forest. The one who had tended to his wound and wiped away his tears, the one he had laughed with when the sun broke through the trees in happy little bursts, the one he had let decide whether he live or die when he’d given up the will to fight either way for himself.

It was up to Yuuri - it was time for him to decide which Victor he believed the soldier in front of him really was behind the uniform, a man or a monster.

Victor held his breath, waiting. 

He would walk away if Yuuri wanted him to. It would be the most painful thing to willingly turn away from safe shelter, but he would do it for Yuuri. He owed his life to him, after all.

The silence stretched on.

And Victor’s head hung in defeat.

He sucked in a shaky breath, heart trembling behind his ribcage and blinking away the tears gathering in his eyes.  _ No.  _ The answer was  _ no. _

“Okay…” he murmured to himself, feeling cold wash over him and goosebumps ripple on his skin, bracing for another night in the wilderness. “Okay…” Another night in the cold. Another night with the wind whistling around him, wandering with no direction and no end to the horror-

Warm fingers closed around his. 

Victor jerked his head up in alarm, eyes blown wide with surprise.

Sure, steady brown ones stared back at him.

They took Victor’s breath away, locked with determination and solid as a rock, hard, and strong, and… and everything that Victor wasn’t in that moment. Everything that he needed. 

Yuuri’s fingers squeezed around his, stepping closer. “ _ Yesu _ .”

For a moment, Victor just frowned. He didn’t understand. 

Yuuri just nodded, firm and decisive. “ _ Yesu _ .”

_ Yes, _ Victor finally clicked, jaw dropping open. Yuuri was saying  _ yes _ , in English - or trying to at least,  _ u  _ sound dragging slightly at the end of the word with Yuuri’s thick accent. Victor could have kissed him. Yuuri was saying yes! He was agreeing.

The laugh that bubbled out of his chest sounded half sobbing and half delirious, a product of madness that he wasn’t proud of.

In that moment though - swinging his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders and pulling him close, because he just  _ had _ to feel Yuuri close - Victor didn’t care. “Y-yes,” he stuttered in English, matching Yuuri, the long ago learned language alien on his tongue. “Yes,  _ spasibo, Gospodi _ , yes...” he could have said it for eternity.

But the whimper of pain from Yuuri reminded him of why he’d been so desperate for that  _ yes. _ Victor jolted back, hands bracing around Yuuri’s upper arms.

His eyes dropped to Yuuri’s shoulder. “Okay,” he breathed, back to Russian.   

He could do this.

This time, when he turned back to the barn, he didn’t take Yuuri’s hand. He didn’t grab his arm or drag him - he just turned and walked with the light of the fading sunset bright in the corner of his eye, trusting Yuuri to follow. He wouldn’t force him anymore. Yuuri was stronger than needing that. 

And after a moment, the sound of frost crunching under bootfalls that weren’t his own hit his ears, and Victor breathed a sigh of relief.

It would be okay.

He heaved his shoulder against the barn door when he reached it first, nudging it open wider and leaning his back against it to watch Yuuri. He fought to hold back his small smile into a beam, holding his composure.

Yuuri approached with all the caution of a woodland deer, eyes wary and hesitant, steps quiet and slow. He looked gentle and focussed all wrapped up in one, hand of his wounded shoulder resting over the pistol at his belt and good hand at his shoulder, biting back the pain that was betrayed by the sheen of sweat over his skin. His eyes didn’t leave the door, not even for a sparing glance at Victor as he stopped by his side, staring into the barn.

Yuuri gasped.

Victor’s heart swelled at the sound.

Crates of bottles filled the barn, stacked high one on top of the other along the walls of the barn, all bearing the same brand that Victor knew well - maybe more than he should. Yuuri obviously knew of it too, eyes popping wide beside him and hand twitching at the wound in his shoulder.

_ Vodka _ .

Premium, high grade vodka. 

Victor couldn’t believe their luck. The whole barn was perfect. Clean and well kept, booze filling up the floor and the upper hanger lined with straw where Victor suspected more crates hid from view, glimpsing a gap carved out into the narrowing panel of the top wall where the glorious sunset colours sweeped through, filling the barn with dancing colours and shadows that bounced off the glass bottles.

They had a safe bed. They had alcohol for Yuuri’s wound. If they were lucky then maybe - just maybe - they could catch the infection in time, if they could keep the wound sterile and clean, bandaged until it healed enough … they could save Yuuri.

Or they could drink to the fact they wouldn’t be dead by firing squad, at the very least. As far as Victor was concerned, it was worth it for that alone.

Yuuri wandered forward like he was in a dream, fingers trembling as they reached out and trailed along the edge of one of the crates. Victor watched on, smiling fondly. Yuuri probably couldn’t quite believe it either, a stroke of luck so blessed it was almost tempting fate by believing in it.

But Victor would believe in it. He would take the chance they’d been given greedily and without remorse, clinging to it desperately.

Yuuri’s sweat drenched hair whipped around him as he turned back to Victor, eyes round with wonder and smile ghosting over his lips. “ _ Kore wa- _ ”

“Vodka.”

Victor smiled, cracking open the crate nearest and pulling out a bottle to toss over to Yuuri, grin triumphant on his face. It felt weird to smile, cheeks aching with the effort. He didn’t regret it for a second though.

Yuuri caught the bottle effortlessly, eyes scouring the front label… and when he glanced up again, he smiled right back.

 

* * *

 

“Hold still.”

Victor murmured more to himself than Yuuri as they sat in the alcove of the barn, light still streaming through the carve in the wall as Yuuri stripped his shirt off and Victor tried not to wince at the wound on his shoulder. It was an angry red, blood vessels under Yuuri’s skin darkened and pronounced. It didn’t look good. It might be too late.

But he had to try.

He steadied Yuuri’s other shoulder as he leaned forward with an open bottle of the vodka, taking a quick swig himself for courage. He wasn’t looking forward to this.

The alcohol burned pleasantly through his system, warming and rough, and everything that Victor needed in that moment to ground him, to steady his nerves. This time, when he leaned the bottle neck over Yuuri’s shoulder, he felt a little more focused.

Yuuri hissed at the first splash over his shoulder, scrunching his eyes shut and turning his face away. 

Victor just squeezed his good shoulder carefully, holding him still and brushing his thumb comfortingly over the soldier’s collarbone. It was all he could do - careful touches and soft whispers of encouragement to get Yuuri through every burning touch of the alcohol that was cleaning his wound, potentially saving his life…

The second open bottle that Yuuri drank from helped too, grimacing bitterly with each deep swig.

On the fourth, Yuuri coughed, spluttering. “Nanite kotoda...”

Victor blinked up from his task for a moment as Yuuri’s body wracked with his coughs, knowing how the drink tasted for those not used to it. He remembered his first taste. Well, he remembered  _ most  _ of that night at least…

He saw the expression he’d had then on Yuuri’s face, flush bouncing pink and glorious on his cheeks and mouth twisting in a grimace that was both disgusted and intrigued at the same time. Victor knew. He knew it very well. He watched Yuuri glare down at the bottle with slightly unfocused eyes, pupils dark and blown wide like it had personally offended him.

Victor just chuckled. 

“No good?” he grinned, taking another deep swig from his own bottle before spilling more over Yuuri’s shoulder, watching the clear droplets roll off Yuuri’s wound, down his chest, seeping into the waistband of his pants and dampening the material. Victor found himself drawn to it more than he was proud to admit...

Yuuri shuddered, knuckles going white around the bottle neck.  _ “Dono yō ni kono mono o nomu koto ga dekimasu ka...” _

Victor reluctantly dragged his gaze up from Yuuri’s belt back to his shoulder, feeling colour warm his cheekbones. He guessed he had never been much of a drinker, even in the army.

“It’s an acquired taste, I guess,” he admitted with a shrug, still smirking.

Yuuri just shook his head, lifting his glare from the bottle to Victor.  _ “Roshiahito ga muchūdesu _ ...”

He took another swig anyway. 

Victor could hear the alcohol getting to Yuuri. He heard the rough touch to his voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago, watched his pupils burst wider with each swig, saturated with a lightheartedness that Victor had never seen in the soldier before. And when he smiled - even through the hisses of pain - it damn near took Victor’s breath away. Victor was helpless but to laugh along with him.

Whatever he had said.

It distracted him for just a second too long - Yuuri’s flush on his cheekbones just a little too radiant - and Victor’s hand slipped. Vodka poured in rivets over Yuuri’s shoulder and the soldier gasped, hand shooting up to Victor’s to grip the bottle over Victor’s fingers, righting the bottle.

Victor swore under his breath, dropping the bottle in a heartbeat and scrambling for the rag he’d ripped of the edge of his shirt, to mop up the alcohol spilling over Yuuri’s chest-

Yuuri’s hand just closed around Victor’s wrist, stopping him.

Victor looked up - right into Yuuri’s eyes. 

_ When had they gotten so close? _

Victor could taste Yuuri in the air, could taste the tang of his sweat on the air and see every single eyelash fluttering over his determined gaze, riding out the pain rippling through his shoulder that Victor could feel in the tight grip around his wrist. His breath sighed out, washing right over Victor’s chapped lips and sending shivers down the Russian’s spine, and warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

Victor wasn’t sure who leaned in first. 

All he knew was that one moment, he was admiring the colour on Yuuri’s cheeks and the next they were kissing, salted with sweat, soft, unsure, careful…

Victor asked for more anyway.

His lips parted, kissing Yuuri deep and slow with firm pressure from his mouth and gentle swipes with his tongue, hand reaching up to weave through Yuuri’s thick hair and hold him steady. He wanted to savour this - it was the first kiss he’d had for a long while. It might end up being his last...

The thought only drove Victor to shuffle closer though, hand slotting against Yuuri’s warm cheek and Yuuri’s settling against his chest, gentle and trusting.

Over his uniform.

Victor had to do something about that.

He didn’t put an inch of space between his and Yuuri’s mouths as he rid himself of his own shirt, hissing against Yuuri’s lips as the bullet wound in his bicep pulled in protest. Victor forced himself to ignore it, yanking the material off his wrists like a mad man.

The moment he was free, he pushed forward against Yuuri - and groaned hard. All they did was touch - warm skin against warm skin - and Victor felt his heart twinge in his chest, felt something in the back of his head all but ready to break down in tears at the tender contact, so soft, so comforting… he needed more of it, feeling his heartbeat hammer under Yuuri’s tender fingertips, feeling every slight shift of muscle under his skin.

Yuuri was putty in Victor’s hands as the Russian lowered him down to the hay, settling his body over his enough to feel his weight bearing pleasantly down on him. His knees fell apart without thinking.

Victor’s thigh slotted between Yuuri’s, Yuuri’s leg sliding up his. Victor wasn’t even bothered. Before the war the same motion from anybody else would have had him hard as a rock and ready to go in a heartbeat. Now though, after fearing for his life, struggling to survive, and fighting for the safety of a strange enemy soldier as much as his own… he just clung to Yuuri, glad to know one last friendly embrace, the warmth of another human body pressed against his. He felt alive again. 

He wasn’t sure how long they spent kissing in the straw, exploring each other with careful, curious fingers and tender lips, but Victor knew it was his last thought before he passed out, lulled asleep by Yuuri’s heartbeat and the warmth of his skin, fingers laced tenderly through Victor’s hair like he was something precious. Like he mattered. Victor wasn’t awake to see the tears carve a gentle path over his own face, rolling onto Yuuri’s chest with every shuddering breath.

But Yuuri was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translate:
> 
> Shinaideyo - Don't
> 
> spasibo, Gospodi - thank you, God
> 
> Kore wa - this is-
> 
> Nanite kotoda - oh my God
> 
> Dono yō ni kono mono o nomu koto ga dekimasu ka? - How can you drink this stuff?
> 
> Roshiahito ga muchūdesu - You Russians are crazy


	3. Chapter 3

Victor dreamt of seagulls.

Long, harking cries that cut through the salty air, fresh and free, wings long and lazy as they glided through the seaside breeze and basked in the sunlight. Victor remembered it fondly. He remembered how warm the sun had felt on his skin, how refreshing the air had felt in his lungs, how hopeful he’d felt for that one last blessed St Petersburg summer before his world came crashing down around him...

He remembered, smiling to himself sadly. The fine hairs on his arms lifted at the gentle breeze, a wave of cool to break up the uncomfortable warmth. It tickled, shiver shuddering down his spine at the sensation.

He wished he could have stayed there forever, young and free.

Instead, he woke up with a jolt, and gasped.

Cold air bolted down his lungs like a slap to the face and Victor jerked at the hay underneath him prickling his skin, head still thick with his dreams. Slowly though, everything fell away. Soft sand was replaced with hard floorboards. Gentle breeze was replaced with the sharp winter chill. The warmth of the summer sunshine was replaced with the heat of what felt like fire on his one side, too hot and uncomfortable. His blood pulsed thick and fast in his veins, heart already hammering in his chest.

And then the gull’s cries morphed into harrowing human screams, and Victor remembered his reality.

_What?_

His eyes shot open.

The wooden sloped ceiling of the barn filled in above him and Victor suddenly remembered where he was, feeling the hard boards under his back, the soft hay tangled around his fingers…

And Yuuri.

Yuuri - twisting and turning beside him in a mad frenzy, drenched in sweat, gasping for breath, and lips parted around a scream that went straight to Victor’s bones. His eyes were scrunched shut, hands trembling as they scrambled in the hay and twisted Japanese breaking through his yells, whimpering tone clearer than any translation Victor could ever hope to find.

He jerked away in shock - away from the heat, away from the noise - watching with wide, terrified eyes as Yuuri writhed like he was ready to claw his own skin off, heart in his mouth and blood thick in his ears. What the hell was happening? What was he seeing?

Victor didn’t know.

All he knew was that it had to stop.

“Yuuri!”

His hands were shaking as he threw them over Yuuri’s mouth, fear gripping him thick and fast as he loomed over the Japanese soldier. His fingers clamped tight over Yuuri’s mouth, desperate to muffle the noise.

His instincts screamed at him, senses on red alert. Every muffled scream from Yuuri’s lips made him wince, made his heart skip a beat - acutely aware that if _anybody_ heard them…

...they would be dead.

The breath caught in Victor’s lungs at the thought, throwing a glance back over his shoulder at the barn door below. Still empty - for now.

He didn’t know how long it would stay that way though - especially if Yuuri kept making so much noise. It wouldn’t take much to hear him out here. Absolutely anybody could hear him, anybody.

Then it would all be over.

The screaming was still shrill from behind Victor’s fingers, sound not dampened in the slightest. Yuuri struggled beneath him, body jolting to throw Victor off with mismatched twists and clawing hands. Victor hissed as they made contact, lashing out at his cheek. He felt the blood ooze.

All the while, Yuuri’s eyes stayed clenched shut, scrunched tight beneath the overgrown bangs flopping over his forehead. His eyes was still asleep - he was having a nightmare!

“Yuuri!” Victor shouted as loud as he dared, barely audible over Yuuri’s harrowing screams. Dread curled thick and heavy in Victor’s gut, instincts bristling with the goosebumps on his skin. It still didn’t stop the tears welling in the corners of his eyes though, desperate... “Yuuri, please wake up! It’s not real! _Please_!”

He had to wake him up, had to stop him screaming. Victor’s hands pressed harder over Yuuri’s mouth in desperation but it only made it worse, Yuuri bucking beneath him like Victor was trying to smother him.

Would that work though? Victor found himself wondering, panic creeping into the back of his mind. He had to keep Yuuri quiet before he got them both killed. If he could knock Yuuri out or worse - the gun was an arms length away across the barn with Victor’s dagger, all it would take for him to silence Yuuri once and for all. He could do it, save himself. What else could he do if  Yuuri just _wouldn’t wake up?!_

Victor shook his head violently against the thoughts though, breath hitching. He couldn’t. He couldn’t hurt Yuuri. He’d spent so much time - so much precious hope - keeping this soldier alive for so long. He couldn’t hurt Yuuri.

Because he didn’t want to die alone when it was all over.

Victor feared that more than dying itself.

He grasped Yuuri’s shoulder, shaking and shaking him - trying not to panic at how hot Yuuri’s skin felt to touch and the shudders that rippled through him. Nothing worked. Yuuri didn’t wake up. Victor didn’t know what to do, a lump catching in his throat.

They couldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back to the army - a prisoner whichever countries forces found them first, a dead man either way. He’d heard the stories of what the Japanese did with prisoners of war. A bullet to the head from Yakov would be a lot kinder than the slow torturous death that Yuuri’s Commander would have in mind for him, fear curling ice cold around Victor’s heart and sending tremors trembling through his fingers.

He wasn’t ready to die. He wasn’t even thirty yet - no age to die! He should be settling down with a wife and child, teaching his son how to read and bickering over whether they could make ends meet for another month.

Victor wished more than ever for that future now, the one that had once scared him into the army to begin with. He never should have left. He never should have followed that handsome boy from Moscow to fight. He never should have yelled at his mother for introducing him to that nice Alexandra girl. He never should have been such a good shot. It was all his fault. Every decision he’d made through pride and stubbornness had lead him down his path, head held high throughout it all.

Until he was staring at the possibility of the end of it all, his life and its futile meaning going up in the smoke of one gunshot.

He wasn’t ready.

He hadn’t scraped his way by in the forest for so long just to die in a barn. He couldn’t. Not after they’d come so far, survived together for this long. They’d only just escaped the forest - Victor wasn’t ready to give up fighting just yet. He wasn’t ready for it to be over. He was a soldier - hell, he was _the_ soldier! Victor Nikiforov didn’t get killed.

Especially not by some Jap.

Victor’s jaw clenched, tears blinking clear with every bat of his eyelashes into the stone cold orbs of a Captain. The cogs connected in the back of his brain one by one, calm, collected … ready.

The same sense that washed over him just before he slaughtered nameless, faceless young men in the name of his country, in the name of someone else’s pride.

He was done with killing.

But he didn’t hold back as he pinned Yuuri’s shoulder down, thumb over his angry red wound - and pressed in deep.

Yuuri howled.

The warmth of fresh blood bubbled over Victor’s fingers but he didn’t let up the pressure, pressing his thumbnail in the sensitive wound as hard and deep as he dared. Pain had never failed him before. It was the one thing he could always rely on.

Even now.

Teeth bit into Victor’s fingers, scream raw and brittle behind them… but then wide russet brown eyes were bolting open, staring up at him with the fear of God gleaming from them. He looked just as terrified as when they’d first met, both threatening to kill the other when they’d already thought they were dead men.

Breaths heaved fast and sharp through Victor’s fingers over Yuuri’s mouth, bolting in and out of Yuuri’s chest lightning quick and each one spearing panic straight through the young soldier, body heaving with each fleeting lungful. It wasn’t enough, Victor realised numbly, feeling Yuuri still wrestle with him, hands fighting with Victor’s wrists to pull him off him. Victor held firm though, grip strong. He wasn’t letting go.

He had to hold on. He had to be strong - in more ways than one - pinning Yuuri’s wrists down either side of his head and leaning down over him until their chests were just a hair's breadth away from touching.

He levelled Yuuri with his stare, watching Yuuri’s eyes flash with panic beneath him.

“Yuuri, it’s okay,” he said in a deep, slow voice, words soft on his tongue despite the hard edge to his gaze. “It’s Victor. It’s okay.”

It wouldn’t be for long, but for ten seconds he could lie. For ten fateful seconds, Yuuri freezing at his words and going stiff under his hands, pupils darkening with recognition behind the blind panic, it was worth it. It wasn’t much, but it was enough - enough for Victor to peel a hand away from one of Yuuri’s wrists to press a single finger to his lips.

_Quiet._

Because through Yuuri’s gasping breaths, Victor could hear horses.

And horses meant people.

There was no other reason for it. The field wasn’t for livestock, it was a crop field - however real or fake for the vodka trade the farm obviously dealt with. Horses wouldn’t roam out here. They would only plough, pull carts... _people_. They couldn’t be far - Victor heard the clop over the frozen ground, heard the whiny. They had minutes. If that.

Victor saw in Yuuri’s widening eyes when he heard it too, watching his already pale face go white. He was right to be afraid, Victor couldn’t help but think.

He jerked his head quickly, clambering off Yuuri to where their stuff lay, throwing Yuuri’s shirt at him and slipping his own over his arms. He did up on button in the middle of his chest, not wasting time with the rest as he kicked Yuuri his pistol and scraped up his dagger.

He moved quick and silent, hunched over low in case the horses were coming from the West - where the viewing hole pattern was cut out of the barn face was. He couldn’t tell just yet.

He wasn’t risking it.

He straightened up once he’d crossed the hole and flattened his back against the solid wall beside it, straining to pinpoint the sound. It sounded behind him - as much as he could tell, anyway - and a quick glance down around the edge of the wall cut-out confirmed. A cart rose over the ridge of the barren hill pulled by two horses, a slumped-over, wide figure in the driver’s seat. It was moving slow and lazy, the driver swaying from side to side with the leisurely movement. An old man, Victor guessed.

_Good._

And if the cart was coming from the back, they could slip out the front unseen and unnoticed… he hoped.

Yuuri hadn’t moved from the floor, crouched low and out of where the open pattern in the barn face spilled early morning light over the floorboards. His shirt hung haphazardly over his shoulders, pistol tucked into his belt. His wide eyes followed Victor’s every movement, lips parted around silent breaths. He was alert now, his training starting to override his panic.

And Victor needed all the help he could get.

His head jerked to the ladder.

Yuuri nodded once.

They didn’t make a sound as they slipped across the floor low and silent, swinging themselves around the ladder and wincing at every quiet bootfall against the wood as they climbed down. Palms were sweaty. Breaths were hushed. Heartbeats sounded as loud as thunderclaps in their ears as they crossed the barn floor with lowered stances and smooth steps, Victor’s hand resting over the knife at his belt for reassurance more than anything else.

His eyes never left the door - feeling Yuuri follow behind him - planning the way he would push it to make the least amount of noise, whether they could just run to the forest edge without being seen or would have to sneak around the barn until the man had gone inside, if he had time to replace the beam that bolted the doors from the outside or -

But the door opened before either of them got to it.

Victor froze.

And so did the mousy haired Chinese boy staring back at him from the doorway.

For a moment, Victor’s life flashed before his eyes. He watched it unfold in the splash of shock that popped the boy’s eyes wide before him, panic setting into his bones and fear gripping so tight that he couldn’t think - couldn’t move - frozen staring at the boy in their path that stared right back, lips poised around a shout that would condemn Victor and Yuuri for good.

Then Yuuri’s pistol clicked, and Victor snapped back to reality.

“ _Ugokanaide_!”

_Shit._

Victor’s heart skipped a beat - if that gun fired, there would be no going back. If a yell didn’t get them killed, a gunshot definitely would.

Victor’s hands shot up, palms bared peacefully. “Yuuri, wait!” he blurted in Russian, head twisting urgently between his comrade and the boy, torn as to which one of them was the biggest threat in that moment.

Yuuri barely glanced at him though - his eyes were locked firmly on the boy, all steel and hard edge, none of the fear and mania that had filled them earlier from his nightmares. Victor could see it in Yuuri’s face, in the twitch of his finger by the trigger - he _would_ shoot this boy. He would kill him to get them out, even if it was a short escape.

Unless Victor stopped him.

“Yuuri, stop,” Victor said desperately, trying to keep the panic out of his voice and only barely succeeding. He still heard his urgency though, a hint of begging. “This isn’t the way. They’d find us.”

A body would tip off anybody looking for them. As soon as word hit the Chinese authorities of a murder this far out with a military weapon, it would be questioned. It would hit the Chinese, then the Russians - and once the Russians knew the area Victor was hiding in, it would only be a matter of time before he was found and killed.

And Yuuri with him.

They had to do this quietly.

“Yuuri, please…”

But of course, Yuuri didn’t understand Russian. “Yuuri, please…”

_“Kare o korosanakereba.”_

Victor could tell by the deadly tone to his voice and the hardened edge to his eyes that whatever Yuuri had said, it wasn’t good.

His heart skipped a beat.

And the boys eyes flickered between him and Yuuri… and the pistol aimed squarely between his eyes barely two feet away. “N-nǐ shì-”

“ _Damare_!”

The gun clicked, Yuuri’s arms straightening.

“Yuuri!”

Before Victor had even opened his mouth, he saw Yuuri pull the trigger in his mind, knew he had only seconds.

His eyes snapped forward again. The boy’s gaze locked with his - wide and afraid, breath catching - Victor felt his fear, could see his wild heartbeat hammering behind his glittering chestnut brown eyes. He looked so young, barely out of his teens … and he was staring his death square between the eyes.

Victor’s heart skipped a beat.

He couldn’t let it happen.

So he didn’t stop himself when his body stepped forward - arm drawing back - and punched the boy square in the face.

 _Hard_.

The blow bounced right up Victor’s arm - barely biting back a cry as the vibrations ricocheted along his own wound through his bicep - recoiling with a hiss and eyes watering. He didn’t see the boy go down - but he heard the thud, glimpsed the lump of his body on the barn floor. He was knocked out cold.

It was better than being dead, Victor told himself.

He clutched his arm as the sting bit into his skin, knuckles stained red with blood he wasn’t sure was his or the boys.

Half a pace away, Yuuri just stared, eyes wide.

“Dōshite...” he breathed, barely more than a whisper.

 _It was better than shooting him_ , Victor just answered in his head, whatever Yuuri might have said. He could guess.

He couldn’t meet Yuuri’s eye as he straightened up and swallowed his jolt of pain still rattling down his arm, letting it fall to his side and trying not to let it show in his face. His eye still twitched though, fingers trembling ever so slightly around the handle of his dagger. His bicep felt warm. Was he bleeding again?

He didn’t have time to check though - not when the sound of clopping hooves grew frighteningly clear in his ears.

He felt the blood drain from his face.

They were out of time.

Yuuri still hadn’t holstered his gun but Victor didn’t care as he grabbed the soldier’s wrist and pulled, holding Yuuri’s until the last second along with his nerve.

“ _Run_.”

 

* * *

 

Victor didn’t stop running until he physically couldn’t, bolting away from the barn and weaving through trees until his knees buckled - breaths short and sharp in his lungs - and he crashed down among the tree roots. The wind knocked out of his chest, world turning in a mess of leaves and bark that sent pain throbbing down his temple. Even when his body slumped still, the world kept spinning, rolling and rolling until Victor heaved and emptied his stomach on the forest floor. He wasn’t sure if it was the vodka, the exertion, the fear…

And it was only when he peeled his eyes open again that he realised that Yuuri wasn’t there with him.

A strangled noise choked from his throat.

“Y-Yuuri?”

Victor pushed himself upright, head whipping round desperately and fighting the urge not to throw up again. All he saw was trees. Never ending swarms of trees looming in around him, suffocating him - it was his worst fears come to life, nothing but him and the forest. He was alone. Cold, silence, and alone.

His heart choked in his chest, air freezing in his lungs as the realisation dawned on him. His courage had broke the moment he’d stepped foot out the barn and he’d left Yuuri behind, not spared even a thought for him until now.

Victor’s hands trembled on the tree rooted forest floor, wide eyes watching them shake. What had he done?

He was alone.

A whimper bled from his lips and salt tanged over his tongue - _tears_ , he realised with silent sob. Only then did he notice the wetness on his cheeks and the ache in his eyes. He had every right to cry. He’d had one companion to see him through this hell, one flickering hope that might have made escaping the war worth living for … and he’d left him behind.

Victor doubled over, head in his hands.

He couldn’t do it - he couldn’t survive alone. He wasn’t strong enough. He didn’t know how to brace the silence, or keep himself warm, or be calm like Yuuri could…

“Yuuri…”

It trembled from his mouth, weak and pathetic. The same mouth he’d kissed Yuuri with not six hours earlier, remembering the warm pressure of Yuuri’s lips on his and the spark of comfort it had fanned inside Victor. Having it all stripped away in the blink of an eye hurt worse than being shot. He’d take a thousand bullets if only he’d have Yuuri by his side to hold his hand as he slipped away.

His heartbeat hammered in his ears, the rustling of the winter breeze whistling through the forest.

Twigs snapped.

Thuds echoed off the tree trunks.

Victor could hear everything and somehow it was even more terrifying than the silence, nothing to protect him from the wilderness. He needed Yuuri. The noises of the forest had never been so threatening with Yuuri beside him, holding his hand.

The rustling got louder, forest sighing over him, shadows falling over his back with the weight of lead bearing down on him from above.

“Victor-san...”

Victor gasped - _Yuuri!_

He jolted up - breath catching in his lungs and hardly daring to draw more in in case it shattered the illusion - but there Yuuri was! Sweating, white as a sheet and doubled over, gasping hard for breath … but he was there.

Something inside Victor snapped.

He didn’t care about much in that moment he scrambled up to his feet and launched himself at the soldier. He didn’t care about the bit of bark under his fingernails. He didn’t care about the throbbing in his arm. He didn’t care about the thud of Yuuri falling back against a tree under Victor’s weight, hands steadying the Russian’s shoulders as he all but collapsed against him. Victor didn’t care. He just leaned against Yuuri, revelling in the hard thump of his heartbeat and the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

 

* * *

 

They spent more nights in the forest, Victor not even bothering to keep count anymore. They huddled close in the dark, not brave enough to start any fires in case it might be visible from the farm. They still had no idea where they were after all. They’d already survived one close call. Victor wasn’t sure he had the nerve to hold his composure through another.

They just lay down in silence at night, staring at each other through the darkness and letting their eyes convey the things they could never say with words.

Sometimes Victor touched Yuuri’s face as they dozed, his fingers ghosting over the soldier’s soft cheeks and chapped lips. Some nights, he needed to feel him. Needed to know he was real and that he hadn’t gone mad. Even when he did feel him, he still wasn’t sure he hadn’t already lost his mind. Maybe Yuuri hadn’t crashed back through the forest and found him. Maybe it had all been an illusion, Victor so desperate not to be alone that his imagination ran wild to save his sanity.

Yuuri rarely touched him back, but the one time he had - the pads of his fingers featherlight against Victor’s bottom lip - it had stolen Victor’s breath away.

They touched and stared until they slipped off into sleep. And when Victor woke - real or not real - Yuuri was always still there beside him.

Rest didn’t always come easy anymore. Worry and tension kept them on edge, made closing their eyes feel dangerous. And when they did finally surrender to the idea of sleep, the elements battled against them. Some nights it was just a chill. Other nights it was cold so violent that Victor drifted off with the rattling of his own teeth bouncing around his skull.

One night - one _cold_ night - Victor noticed Yuuri shivering. Even through his fever and the sweat on his brow, Yuuri shuddered hard on the forest floor, fingers trembling.

Victor’s heart ached.

He didn’t think much as he slipped open the buttons on the front of his shirt and reached out for Yuuri’s hands, clasping his trembling fingers in his own. Yuuri glanced up, eyes round. Victor just smiled softly.

He slipped Yuuri’s hands through the gap in his shirt and gasped when his frozen fingers pressed against his chest, over where his heart lay. Blood - warm and fresh - thumped through his system, and Victor hoped some of that warmth oozed through to Yuuri’s hands, watching the soldier’s eyes flutter and his lips part in a silent gasp. He didn’t take it away. He didn’t move it all night, shuffling closer to lock in the warmth.

Day came with slow wanderings as it had done in the days before the barn - only this time, with no water. They’d lost the stream. Victor’s tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth, heavy and horrible, barely able to pool spit in his mouth to try and take the edge away. The vodka probably hadn’t helped them. He was starting to think maybe they might die in that forest afterall…

Then one day, he stopped.

“Yuuri,” he said, voice croaking in his throat. It hurt. He barely sounded like himself anymore. “Yuuri, stop.”

Ahead of him, Yuuri stopped.

Victor wasn’t looking at him though - he was looking up. At the trees, and the fall of the light scattering over the leaves and how it should have been pretty but wasn’t. Not when his mind was actually calculating what it meant, actually _thinking._ When Yuuri turned round, Victor was already wearing a frown matching his own.

Victor just shook his head.

“We can’t keep doing this,” he breathed, air hitching in his lungs at the words. At saying out loud. It felt good - confronting what was happening at last… Yuuri just frowned though. “This!” Victor waved his arms around the forest. “This wandering around in the forest without a clue where we’re going.”

Still, Yuuri frowned. “ _Nani o itte iru_?”

Victor heart sank. He didn’t understand - no more than Yuuri understood him! But he was right… he knew he was right…

Victor ran a hand through his hair, sighing.

“I’m saying,” he said, stepping forward and cupping Yuuri’s shoulders with his hands. The soldier flinched - but didn’t pull away. “We need to stop. We’re going the wrong way.”

Victor held Yuuri’s eye, praying that he held his trust too. The barn was one thing, but this… this could actually make a difference between life and death. This was _actually_ important, horrified it hadn’t occurred to him sooner in all the wasted days wandering in the wilderness. How careless of them...

His head shook at the waste, letting his hands slide off Yuuri’s shoulders. “Russia’s north,” he said, pointing one arm over Yuuri’s shoulder - where they’d been heading. “Japan’s East.” His arm shifted clockwise, spare hand touching Yuuri’s shoulder again.

And he prayed beyond hope that Yuuri understood.

His head shook at their foolishness; they’d been walking right towards the lion’s den... “We have to go West. It’s our only way out.”

They had to follow the sunset.

They had to go back.

For a moment, Yuuri didn’t say anything, cogs whirring in his brain and mind working behind his eyes - Victor could see it. Could see every bit of it, heart flashing with hope.

Then Yuuri brushed his hand away curtly.

“ _Wakarimasen_.”

Yuuri shook his head, eyes glittering behind the firm resolve in his gaze, a look that exceeded translation - _no._

Victor’s heart skipped a beat, bitter with disappointment. He swallowed thickly, clinging to his temper. _Yuuri just needed to understand_ , Victor thought, holding on to his patience. Once he understood… “If we get to Russia or Japan,” he said slowly, hand back on Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri glared at it before turning back to Victor. “They will shoot us on sight. Both of us. We have to go _away_.”

He could hear the tension in his voice, stiff with anxiety. Could Yuuri pick up on it too? But who could blame Victor, even if he could? It was his life he was talking about - didn’t Yuuri understand that?!

The look in Yuuri’s eyes didn’t shift. “Victor-san, onegai.”

He said it quietly - as if a hushed tone was safer than walking in right direction?! It only made Victor’s blood boil, made his eyes pop wide with outrage.

He needed Yuuri to understand, fingers curling in the soldier’s uniform.

Yuuri glanced down at it with a wince, hand shooting up to cover Victor’s, prying at his fingers. “Victor-”

“Look, we have to _go!_ ” Victor all but shouted, feeling his face flush with frustration. The barn was a moment of salvation - West could be an eternity of it. Victor would make Yuuri understand, whatever the cost. His hand pulled, tugging Yuuri closer as Victor took a step back - back West.

He had no regrets - even when he felt the pull of Yuuri tugging back against him. He didn’t stop, pulling and clumsily snapping twigs and rustling branches around them.

Still, Yuuri pulled. 

“We have to go West,” Victor said again, loud over Yuuri’s protests. “Before someone finds us and-”

A gun clicked.

Victor froze - he knew that sound. He knew it better than his own heartbeat, half expecting to turn and see Yuuri’s pistol in hand, cocked and ready… only it hadn’t come from Yuuri. He hadn’t _heard_ it from Yuuri.

He knew exactly where it came from a moment later though when a voice growled behind his ear in thick Russian, so close that he felt breath rustle his unkempt silver bangs.

“Move…and you’ll be dead before you can blink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations all done by our good friend Google Translate. FYI:
> 
> Ugokanaide - Don't move
> 
> Kare o korosanakereba - We have to kill him
> 
> Damare - shut up
> 
> Dōshite - why
> 
> Nani o itte iru - What are you saying?
> 
> Wakarimasen - I don't understand
> 
> Onegai - please


	4. Chapter 4

“You’ve really got some nerve coming here,” growled in Victor’s ear in his mother tongue, feeling the cold barrel of the gun press against the back of his skull. “How  _ dare _ you! After all you did…”

Victor didn’t move.

He hardly dared breath, knowing one squeeze of the trigger, one fleeting moment of carelessness could cost him his life. Could cost him everything.

He just pressed his eyes shut and swore under his breath, heart sinking bitterly in his chest – he knew that voice. Knew it, raised it, trained it, taught it to kill… and now that same prodigy was the one holding a gun to his head, his life in his hands.

_ Yura. _

Blonde hair and fierce green eyes with a fierce temper to match, aggressive and volatile… but not even out of his teens, no matter what his enlisting card had said. Victor had looked the other way at the time. He’d understood, the boy running away from his hardships at home the same way Victor had at his age. He hadn’t been in any position to judge. He hadn’t said no. He hadn’t done anything.

He regretted it now.

Leaves rustled behind him and Victor watched Yuuri’s eyes widen in front of him as Yura stepped out from the foliage, closing in behind Victor until Victor could feel the warmth of the body behind him, feel his breath over the shell of his ear. Victor felt the crook of the boy’s wrist shift with the new posture, keeping the gun aimed squarely at the back of his head.

Yura could shoot him.

Yura could end it all in a split second.

“You!” he growled at Yuuri in Russian instead, voice thick and snarling. His head jerked. “Move.”

Yuuri didn’t move.

Fear flashed in his eyes, blinding, deafening - like a deer to a gunshot, eyes wide and face stark white… but he didn’t move.

Victor couldn’t see Yura’s face… but he could imagine it. He’d seen the bitterness the boy looked at the world with. He imagined something similar was staring at Yuuri, paralysing him where he stood.

Victor could hear his heart beat in his ears, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. Yuuri couldn’t understand. He didn’t know what Yura was saying, too frozen with fear to drink in the subtle body language that bypassed translation, to back away - even slowly of his own accord - like anybody else might. Victor’s fingers had long uncurled from around his arm, free to move, free to  _ run. _

_ Move, _ Victor willed silently in his head, trying to catch Yuuri’s eye desperately. Yuuri didn’t look at him though. He didn’t take his eyes off the gun.

And he didn’t move.

“Oi, I said  _ move!” _

Victor gasped as a scrawny arm choked around his neck from behind and suddenly the gun was pointing squarely over his shoulder - right at Yuuri. His heart skipped a beat, stomach flipping in horror.

_ No! _

He couldn’t lose Yuuri.

Victor didn’t think before he moved - the gun fired at the same moment that Victor’s arm jerked, knocking the pistol up as the treeline above them exploded and smoked. Leaves and twigs rained down, but Victor didn’t stop to watch - he rammed his elbow jammed back into Yura’s ribs as hard as he could and knocked the air clean out of the teen’s lungs, ducking out from his slackened hold before the boy could even blink.

It was almost too easy - Yura’s tiny frame no match for Victor’s natural size, even in his half-starved state. And with Yuuri’s life on the line, Victor suddenly found a strength he never knew he had left.

He twisted round just in time to see the surprise and shock flash through Yura’s furious green eyes before the pain bit back and they hardened with rage.

His fingers clenched around the trigger, knuckles white. Victor could see it in his eyes - he was going to shoot again. He was going to pull the trigger, muscles in his arm jumping to pull the gun up, aim, squeeze-

Victor flung himself in front of Yuuri.

And Yura froze.

“What…”

Surprise took over. It blinked Yura’s eyes wide and paled his slender face, arm slacking and something almost akin to fear flashing in the boy’s face. It took years off the war-hardened teen. He looked like the boy he was, rounded eyed and innocently confused… but it only lasted a moment.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growled a second later, face twisting into a merciless snarl and outstretched arm snapping straight again with a click. “Get out of the way!”

Victor was not getting out of the way.

His heart hammered hard in his ribcage, hearing every breath that passed through his lips rasping and too loud, but he would not move, arms spread wide to cover Yuuri as much as he could. A shot from that close range would blow his torso wide open, shattering his internal organs, no chance of surviving … he tried not to stare at the gun.

And tried to focus on the shuddering breaths behind him.

_ Yuuri _ .

It was all for Yuuri.

Victor swallowed the lump in his throat, swallowing his fear and gathering the last strings of his courage. He wasn’t sure how long they would last.

“You’re not shooting him,” he said, slow and measured. His voice only just didn’t tremble. “Without shooting me.”

It was scary.

Facing death and  _ actually facing it _ , staring down the barrel of the gun that would plough a bullet through his chest or skull and end him in the blink of an eye. Would it hurt? Or would he be dead before it mattered? Was it even worth it? Throwing his life away for the sake of someone he barely knew, an innocent boy who certainly had a lot more to live for and a lot less guilt on his conscience than Victor did...

... _ yes _ .

Because how could he live with the alternative?

Victor swallowed thickly, mind made up. He stood his ground, trying to hold Yura’s eye rather than follow the line of the pistol aimed squarely at his heart in that moment. He’d seen Yura’s training - he went for the heart every time, an excellent shot.

Yura just shook his head, mouth hanging open slack jawed before he finally said anything. He hadn’t been expecting this. “Don’t be so stupid.”

It was nowhere near as sharp as Victor knew the boy was capable of though, words nowhere near clipped enough, nowhere near as venomous as they could be… he was wavering. He was doubting.

Victor could see it in his eyes, in the barely there tremor up Yura’s arm…

He could use it to his advantage.

“I’m not being stupid,” he said, forcing himself to take a breath and sucking it in a slow and subtle as he could. The oxygen was soothing, a wash of calm - no matter how temporary - settling over him as he did. “I’m not letting you kill him.”

It felt good saying it, standing his ground as best he could with the fear rippling through him, body itching to just turn and bolt. His will was all that kept him there. That – and the small hands curled into the back of his uniform, tight and trembling. Victor forced himself to stay still, to stand strong. He had to be strong for Yuuri.

He didn’t expect Yura to understand. The confusion wasn’t why he was doing it – buying them time – why he was risking his life. If it came down to it, he would rather die than watch it happen to Yuuri. He couldn’t be responsible for another boy’s death.

The shock showed on Yura’s face, eyes wide and staring, flickering between Victor and Yuuri over his shoulder. His head shook, unbelieving.

“Why the  _ hell _ are you defending him?” he asked, a rawness to this voice that Victor couldn’t quite place. “He’s  _ Japanese _ ! Have you forgotten…” Yura’s head shook, jaw snapping shut and clenching tight. His eyes snapped back to marbles – hard and merciless. His arm straightened. “You really are a traitor to your country.”

The gun clicked.

Victor’s breath hitched with it.

His mind raced, panic swarming through his thoughts and making a mess of his heartbeat, pressing his eyes shut for one moment to catch his breath, to compose himself. He couldn’t lose it now, not now – if this was to be his last impression on the world, he wanted to be brave for it.

His hands shot up on instinct though, palms bared peacefully either side of his head. It wouldn’t do him any good, he knew. He did it anyway.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally said when his eyes opened again, wet with tears and voice deathly quiet. His lip quivered. “Out there...” his head jerked. “It really doesn’t matter…”

Because it didn’t.

In the army it was easy to pretend the enemy wasn’t the same as you, that they were different, evil perhaps, not quite as human as you were…but in reality it was all the same. Just boys and men with homes and families fighting and killing for the will of a man who held a higher rank, god only knowing what that will was! Victor had long forgotten the reason for the war. He’d long lost track of why he was being ordered to kill.

The forest stripped it all away.

They were the same out there, rank, and colour, and language nothing useful to the trees and streams that barely kept them surviving.

It meant nothing that Yuuri was Japanese.

It meant nothing that Victor was Russian.

They could both die the same.

He wasn’t surprised when Yura frowned though, his sharp green eyes clashing. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” he hissed. “He killed our men -  _ your  _ men-”

“And I’ve killed his!”

Victor gasped as he yelled it, breath catching in his throat. It was like the souls of those he’d slaughtered were trying to catch his air choke him… there were enough ghosts for it, enough bodies to bury whatever right to mercy Victor had ever had the right to.

“I’ve killed more,” he choked on, voice cracking traitorously and eyelashes sticking together with every blink of his eyes from the tears. His hands curled into fists in the air, holding himself together. “If anybody has the right to kill anybody, it’s him but he hasn’t. He’s got a heartbeat just like mine. He feels pain just like I do. He’s afraid just like I was… I won’t let you hurt him.”

Victor wasn’t sure when he started crying, but he felt it now. He felt the icy touch of the tears running down his cheeks and the salt on his lips, unmistakable.

He made no move to dry them.

Yura swallowed, expression unreadable – but chaotic.  _ Dangerous _ . “He-he’s the enemy-”

“He’s your enemy, not mine.”

Yura’s breath audibly hitched at that. “You traitor…”

Victor braced himself. Yura’s eyes flashed, his knuckles white around the pistol, and Victor sucked in a breath – wondering if it would be his last. He glared at the gun, daring, ready. He could do this. He was ready…

“Victor...”

_ Yuuri. _

Victor registered the voice a heartbeat before the hand fisted in the back of his shirt twisted, Yuuri’s forehead touching down between his shoulder blades. Something was wrong. Victor could feel it – could feel the heat seeping from Yuuri’s forehead, hear the rasp of his breath… then he heard a sigh and the fingers dropped away from his shirt.

Victor turned in a heartbeat – Yura be damned – Yuuri’s limp body slipping right into his arms like a rag doll as he dropped down to his knees in shock. Yuuri’s boneless body went with him. 

He was out cold, Victor realised with his heart in his mouth, smoothing the sweat soaked hair out of Yuuri’s closed eyes and realising just how white Yuuri’s skin was. He looked like a ghost. Air sucked into his lungs in short, sharp bursts, pulse racing under his skin from where he and Victor touched.

He was dying.

“Oh God…” Victor gasped, air stinging the inside of his lungs like barbed wire and watching a tear drop down onto Yuuri’s cheek, staining through the dirt on his face. He was too shocked to feel any shame.

And the idea of losing Yuuri right there in his arms was way more terrifying than Yura could ever be, even with his pistol.

Victor’s fingers clenched around Yuuri, digging into his arms so hard he wondered if it would bruise. Did it matter? Not if Yuuri didn’t wake up. Not if he was just going to slip away there and then. Victor didn’t let up, surrendering to the bubble of anger swelling up inside him that overwhelmed whatever fear might be left. What was the point? It was all for Yuuri, and if he was gone, what else did Victor have to fight for?

Victor’s eyes were still wet with tears when they snapped back up to Yura. “Kill us if you have to,” he said bitterly, cradling Yuuri in his arms, holding his head against Victor’s chest. He couldn’t let him go. Not yet… “We’ll be dead soon anyway.”

If Yuuri died, then Victor would be more than happy to take Yura’s pistol and save Yakov the trouble of coming back to Russia to kill him. He would do it himself. 

Yura’s arm slacked, gun dropping a fraction. 

Victor didn’t care anymore. 

“No tricks?” 

Victor could hear the hesitation in Yura’s voice, hear the trepidation… he couldn’t say he blamed the boy. 

But he was tired of running.

His eyes dropped back down to Yuuri, jaw setting and gaze trailing over the boy’s white face, the stark black of his eyelashes against his pale cheeks, and the faint, fast breaths that passed through his blue tinged lips...

“No tricks,” he murmured, more to himself than Yura. “I just want to keep him safe.”

For a moment, there was silence. 

Victor wasn’t sure what would happen. He wouldn’t put it past Yura to just raise the gun again and shoot Victor in the back of his head while he was exposed, taking his opportunity. He wouldn’t fight it. He wouldn’t blame him. He would do the same - at least, the old him would have done the same, merciless and brutal.

It was no less than he deserved.

Yura breathed hard behind them for a few moments - Victor hearing each and every rasp - deciding. Then-

“ _ Okay _ .”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri was just as heavy as Victor remembered as he and Yura carried him through the forest with an arm slung over each shoulder, tracking a path through the forest that Victor hadn’t seen before in their aimless wandering. Now though, he wondered how he possibly could have missed it.

“Where are we?” he asked after twenty minutes of silence, finally brave enough to ask. He needed to know. 

Yura just ‘tsk’ed in response.

“What kind of question is that?” the young soldier threw back at him, shooting a dark glare across Yuuri. “Did you lose your mind as well as your nerve out there?”

Victor’s steps faltered.

His mouth dropped open to reply but the words caught in his throat, heart dropping into his stomach and the forest falling away from him in the space of half a breath. It hit him harder than he thought it would, slamming into him like a cannonball. 

It all came flooding back. The battlefield loomed before his eyes just as he’d remembered it all the days before his desertion. All mud and misery, the sound of cannons and guns exploding around him paired with the screams of dying men - the pit of Hell itself flashing in his mind; the blood, the horror, the death about to swathe over them all before he’d turned tailed and bolted away in front of the whole Russian army… he was right back there, breath hitching in his lungs. He saw the litter of bodies - as real as the heartbeat in his chest. He could smell the gunpowder in the air. He felt the weight of his medals pinned to the chest of his uniform, a shackle on him, dragging him down back into Hell-

“Victor!”

Victor gasped - and he was back in the forest.

The trees filled in green in front of him, brown roots beneath his boots, the weight of Yuuri draped over his shoulders… and Yura. Yura staring at him across Yuuri’s limp form, frowning and eyes clashed with concern.

It was nice to think that somewhere deep down inside - no matter what might happen - the young soldier still cared about his old mentor, even just a little.

As soon as Victor caught Yura’s eye though, the boy’s gaze hardened. “We have to keep moving,” he said coldly.

It was like being hit with ice water, but Victor swallowed the bolt of hurt that jolted through him. Yura was right - they needed to keep moving. Victor wasn’t sure how many more nights in the wilderness Yuuri could survive like this. He was on his last life, still passed out cold between the two Russian’s dragging him through the forest to… well, Victor had no idea. 

But it couldn’t be any worse than what was behind them.

Victor trudged forward, finding his footing and falling back into the familiar pattern of his footsteps. The rhythm calmed him, timing his breaths slowly with his steps, until his mind was clear again and -

“We’re in Russia, aren’t we?” he asked, voice flat.

He already knew the answer long before Yura answered.

“Yes,” Yura sighed, heavier than Victor was expecting. Was it just his imagination or did Yura’s head hang just a little lower? “We’re in Russia. Just.”

Victor thought for a moment. “Why are you here?”

Being in Russia, he could understand - they’d strayed close to the border, blurred in the wilderness. 

One thing he couldn’t understand though, was why  _ Yura  _ was  _ there. _

The last time Victor had seen the teen, he’d been with a company destined for Mukden, chances as bleak as anybody elses in that God forsaken place - just a few weeks delayed. What had happened?

“There’s an outpost nearby,” Yura said, eyes locked forward. “More for trade than anything, but the route goes to the front lines. Yakov posted me here with my grandfather.”

_ Yakov... _

Victor’s gaze sobered, mind wandering to his old General. Yakov had always had a soft spot for the young ones that showed spirit. He’d taken Victor in. He’d let Victor take Yura in. He wasn’t surprised Yakov had pulled Yura aside out of the firing line, the boy even younger and more vulnerable than Victor had been when they’d first crossed paths. Yakov was tough - but he wasn’t evil. In many ways, he’d been the father Victor had never really had...

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Yura didn’t even pause. “You’re not exactly going to live long enough to tell anybody before Yakov gets his hands on you.”

That shut Victor up.

 

* * *

 

The house was small and simple - like the rural shacks Victor had grown up in with his grandmother when he was a boy. A single storied cabin with a short, fat chimney poking through the roof and the once painted walls wind battered and weathered. It looked old and haggard, standing up by sheer will as much as anything as it poked out of the stud of trees.

Victor wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t sure anything could surprise him anymore.... until Yura rapped on the front door and Nikolai Plisetsky opened from the other side. 

Victor’s jaw dropped. 

Nikolai Plisetsky - retired Colonel - famed for being both a military genius and a good man to his soldiers, until he stood down a few years ago, all but disappearing off the grid. Victor had never met him, only heard the legends. He’d never known he was Yura’s grandfather though. He’d never made the connection.

_ How… _

It wasn’t the time to ask.

The old man just took one look at Yuuri between the two soldiers before his eyes flashed wide and he stepped back from the door. He didn’t even glance at Victor.

“In,” was all he said. 

The shortness of his tone curled Victor’s stomach, heart dropping fast enough to send his head spinning - it didn’t sound good.

He wasn’t brave enough to ask though, just dragging Yuuri through the doorway and breathing a faint apology when Yuuri’s boots caught on the doorstep with a dull thud. Yuuri couldn’t hear him. He was still out cold. That - combined with the cold tinge to Yuuri’s hand clutched over Victor’s shoulder - worried him greatly.

Nikolai strode across the cabin swiftly - even with his slight hunch - clearing the dining table with one long stroke of his arm half a second before Victor and Yura hauled Yuuri up onto it. His head lolled as they set him down with his legs hanging off the edge of the table, the thump to his skull uncontrolled, unprotected… Victor’s fingers weaved through Yuuri’s hair and held him straight, held him still.

Nikolai was beside him in an instant, dragging over a chair with a squeak while he popped open the buttons on Yuuri’s shirt. The darkened blood stain ringed around Yuuri’s shoulder gave a clear indicator. 

“What was it?” he asked, not taking his eyes off Yuuri.

Victor couldn’t look away either, Yuuri’s face too calm in his unconsciousness, too tranquil, too peaceful… “Knife.”

He bit out the word bitterly, resenting every syllable. The knife in question hung heavy on his belt, weighed down with guilt that Victor absolutely despised it for. He wished he’d never drawn the blade that day he’d deserted. He wished he’d used his brain instead of panic at the first sign of noise, plunging his knife into the first thing that hit him … but in that moment, he’d had no way of knowing and he knew it, every threat real and unknown out in the wilderness. There was no taking it back now.

Victor couldn’t look as Nikolai ripped open the shoulder of Yuuri’s shirt - quicker than manoeuvring it off him. Victor didn’t dare look, not confident his stomach would hold if the wound  _ looked _ just as bad as it  _ smelled.  _

“It’s deep,” Nikolai said, scouring over Yuuri’s shoulder with focused eyes. “And infected. Badly. I’m not sure if he’ll-”

“He’ll make it.”

Victor wasn’t about to let Nikolai finish that sentence. He didn’t have a choice - Yuuri  _ had  _ to make it somehow, had to pull through. Victor wasn’t sure what he would do if he didn’t...

The hand not combing through Yuuri’s hair reached down the soldiers uninjured arm, curling his fingers through Yuuri’s and lifting his hand up to his mouth. He sucked in a ragged breath against Yuuri’s knuckles, gathering his strength. If he was going to face his death, he had to make it worth something.

His eyes met Nikolai’s. 

“Save him,” he just said, hearing his voice crack with a desperation that took the edge off his sharp eyes. They blinked fast, eyelashes fluttering and tear drops catching in the light. “Please...”

He knew Nikolai knew how - he’d been a doctor before he’d excelled in the army, using the experience to treat his men when they’d been wounded, not afraid to get his hands dirty and save lives whether they were his rank to save or not… Victor just needed him to do it one more time. It was Yuuri’s last shot. He wouldn’t make it anywhere else for treatment even if there was anywhere else. 

Nikolai hesitated, tension rippling visibly through his stiff posture. He glanced over his shoulder - at Yura.

Victor held his breath.

Yura stood in front of the fireplace, arms crossed over his chest and watching the exchange with a steely eye that Victor suspected covered up something else - something like the reason behind the shaky breath he sucked in when he met Victor’s gaze. It was his call, his choice – whatever they did, would fall on Yura’s shoulders when Yakov found out after all. Victor was already a dead man. Yura didn’t have to be.

He could say no. He could let Yuuri die there on his table, deliver Victor to Yakov and be done with the pair of them.

But Victor  _ knew _ Yura.

And for all his bitterness – his aggressive bravado – he was never cruel. A quick bullet to the heart was how he killed, sharp and swift. He never let them suffer.

For a moment, the boy hesitated.

Then he nodded.

Nikolai didn’t waste another second. 

“We can cut away the dead flesh,” he said, leaning over Yuuri again and fingers carefully probing his wound. “Yura, get vodka and cloth. As many bandages as you can find. He’s going to need them...”

Victor swallowed hard.

He didn’t know what to do as Nikolai straightened up to roll up his sleeves to his elbows and Yura scurried round the cabin for supplies. Victor just stood there weak kneed, holding Yuuri’s hand for dear life. They were really going to do this - here and now. Victor hadn’t prepared himself for this. 

And now he only had minutes.

He abandoned Yuuri’s hand in favour of stroking his fingers through his hair instead while he sucked in long, deep breaths, trying to focus on the whistle of cool air through his teeth.

At least - instead of Nikolai splashing vodka over Yuuri’s shoulder, the alcohol dripping through the table boards to the floor below. Every drop knocked Victor back to reality, sound echoing impossibly in his ears. He wasn’t ready for his, hands shaking in Yuuri’s raven black locks and lip quivering. The knife only made it worse. Nikolai pulled it out of his pocket, flipping the blade free and dowsing it in vodka, silver glinting in the sunlight bouncing through the windows.

Victor’s breath hitched, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as Nikolai braced over Yuuri, the blade hovering half an inch above Yuuri’s wound. His dark eyes flickered up, catching Victor’s.

“Hold him down,” he said, holding Victor’s eye. There was nothing reassuring in his gaze, nothing at all... “This is going to hurt.”

Victor felt the tears track down his face as he sucked in a shaky breath, fingers slipping out of Yuuri’s hair to brace over either of his shoulders. They wet his cheeks, dabbed his lips with salt as his tongue darted out to moisten his chapped lips … there was nothing he could do. This was his best, holding Yuuri down while they cut the infected flesh from him. His fingers clenched, palm pressing down on Yuuri’s good shoulder and the other cupping around Yuuri’s injured one as best he could while still leaving the wound clear.

“I’m sorry, Yuuri,” he whispered, bracing himself. 

He just prayed Yuuri would forgive him when it was all over. It was his only shot, their only chance…

It didn’t make it any easier.

The knife pressed.

Yuuri’s eyes bolted open with a gasp the second the blade broke skin, blood beading half a heartbeat before he jerked up off the table. He threw Victor off - sending the former Captain staggering back into the stove behind him - as his arms lashed out wildly. Nikolai caught a wrist, barely holding it back.

“Victor!”

Victor was back at Yuuri’s shoulders in a heartbeat, shoving him back down to the table harder than probably necessary - but Victor wasn’t thinking clearly to control himself any better. 

Not with Yuuri’s shouts in his ear. 

Not with the sound of his own rapid pulse deafening him. 

Not with the guilt bubbling away in his stomach so bad he felt like he was going to be sick at any moment, not daring to open his mouth.

Blood ran down Yuuri’s shoulder, crimson stark against his pale skin and dripping through the table boards from where the knife was plunged into his wound. Victor couldn’t begin to imagine the pain. He didn’t want to - not with the way Yuuri was howling and thrashing on the table, fighting Victor’s hands like his life depended on it. 

“Hold him!” Nikolai growled.

Victor tried.

He clung down to Yuuri’s good shoulder with all he had, but whether it was his shaking hands or Yuuri fighting desperately against him with strength Victor hadn’t known he had left - it wasn’t enough.

Victor glanced up, eyes pleading across the cabin. “Yura!” 

He begged. He wasn’t above begging - and he would do it again a thousand times for Yuuri’s sake, needing help desperately. He couldn’t do it on his own.

The knife was jagged in Yuuri’s shoulder, every jerk and twist only wedging it in deeper and causing more damage. Blood flowed. Nikolai’s hands were covered in crimson, fingers slippery and getting a grasp on the penknife impossible with the way Yuuri was thrashing. He’d cut his arm off at this rate, severe something important…

Victor had never been more grateful for anything in his life than when Yura’s hands joined his over Yuuri, pinning the soldier down much more mercilessly than Victor could. It was ruthless and brutal… but it worked, Yuuri’s shoulder held as still as they could get it with Victor leaning his full weight over Yuuri and Yura strapping his kicking legs to the tables before joining Victor in pinning down his shoulders.

It kept him still - it didn’t keep him silent.

Yuuri screamed as the knife cut. 

The blade worked quick, slicing off chunks of flesh ridded with infection that Victor hadn’t realised how bad it was until he saw it. And  _ smelled  _ it. It smelled awful, rotten and grotesque, flecks of white pus mingling with the fresh blood. Nikolai cut away dark lumps of flesh that Victor hadn’t noticed turn black when he’d last seen the shoulder. No wonder Yuuri was like this, Victor couldn’t help but think, staring with wide eyes. No wonder Yuuri was dying...

_ No _ , he quickly corrected himself, forcing his eyes away from the surgery to stare at Yuuri’s good collarbone instead. _ He wasn’t dying _ . Yuuri would be fine. He had to be fine. The surgery would be over soon, Yuuri would recover and they would be fine, absolutely fine…

He didn’t believe it for a minute.

But he whispered it to Yuuri between his gasping apologies all the same, begging for forgiveness and barely able to keep his hands steady enough to hold him down.

Especially when Nikolai pulled the hot poker out of the fireplace, metal sizzling.

Yuuri’s eyes flashed wide.

“Brace yourselves,” Nikolai said over Yuuri’s screams. 

Victor wasn’t prepared for the sizzling of flesh, the singe and the  _ smell _ . He wanted to turn away, to empty his stomach on the floor, and run … but then Yuuri thrashed so hard he nearly jerked right out of Victor’s hold and he couldn’t. Without Yura beside him, Yuuri would have yanked right out of his grasp.

Victor cried thick and fast the second Yuuri’s screams bit into him, swallowing his tears. “I’m sorry...”

His voice was barely audible, but Yuuri would never have heard it anyway. Not with the way he was screaming. Victor had never heard a sound like it. Yuuri screamed like his very soul was being plucked out of his chest with a sewing needle, like every fibre of his being was slowly being burned alive before his very eyes. Victor didn’t dare imagine the pain. He couldn’t…

He saw every inch of agony and terror in Yuuri’s eyes as they stared up at the ceiling - at Victor - flashing with desperation.  _ Why?  _ They asked.  _ Why are you doing this to me? _

Even if Victor could have translated, he wasn’t sure he would know what to say. How could he possible explain this?

Nikolai stayed unnervingly calm above Yuuri, holding the poker against his wound and not flinching an inch at the burn of flesh beneath him, spare hand braced square over Yuuri’s ribcage to help hold him down. He seared off the wound with frightening methodism, cauterizing every bleeding with careful precision and eyes of steel. 

Victor tried to be like him, tried to turn a deaf ear to the screams and the convulsing body he pinned to the table, to focus on the task at hand… but he couldn’t.

It felt like it went on forever.

Then Yuuri stopped fighting.

Victor got half a second’s warning - his instincts screaming at him - before Yuuri’s last scream slipped of his lips. His eyes rolled back in his skull, falling limp on the table, while hard fast breaths jolted in and out of his lungs like he just couldn’t catch a breath, shuddering violently right down to his fingertips…

And then it just stopped.

The air punched out of Victor’s lungs, heart pounding in his chest as he stared wide eyed down at Yuuri’s slump form on the table, face tranquil, at peace… “I-Is he-”

“Yura, bandages.”

“Yes, grandpa.”

Victor barley heard the clank of the poker as Nikolai cast it down or the breath of wind as Yura darted from his side like God himself had commanded him. He just stayed frozen, locked rigid with his hands still braced over Yuuri’s shoulders. He didn’t need them. Yuuri wasn’t fighting, wasn’t struggling, wasn’t even twitching behind the eyes-

Victor fell back, not aware there was a chair behind him until he collapsed into it with a heavy thump. 

_ Yuuri… _

“He’s just passed out,” Nikolai said softly as he splashed another dose of vodka over Yuuri’s cauterized shoulder, eyes glancing up to meet Victor’s. They glittered kindly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “It went well.”

Victor didn’t have the presence of mind to try and bother replying, letting his gaze drop back down to Yuuri as Nikolai and Yura made work of bandaging the wound. The urgency was gone now. They worked with diligence and care, but none of the frantic brutality from before, patching Yuuri up like he was a patient in a hospital rather than a stray enemy soldier. Well, Nikolai did at least. Yura was still a little … rough.

Victor didn’t care.

He just stared at the weak rise and fall of Yuuri’s chest like a man possessed, frightened that if he looked away he might miss Yuuri’s last one. 

If it had gone so well, why didn’t Victor feel glad?

It was only then he noticed the hard shake to his own hands over his thighs and the hard bolt of each breath into his lungs, air stinging against his painfully dry lips. He eyed the bottle of vodka on the table… but he was too frighteningly numb to actually reach for it.

 

* * *

  
  


“What did Yakov say?” Victor asked when he finally found his voice again, fingers clutched tight around Yuuri’s hand on the table. They’d stopped shaking at least.

But Yuuri still hadn’t woken up.

Outside, the world was dark. Dusky blue moonlight spilled over the kitchen through the window, illuminating one side of Victor’s face in pale light as he stared down at Yuuri still on the kitchen table. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the soldier - not even when his own wound had been seen to, Yura insisting that he couldn’t possibly let Victor die before Yakov got to kill him. A thick bandage wrapped around Victor’s shot bicep, his shirt still half hanging off his body from where he hadn’t bothered to button it up again. What was the point?

He was going to be fine. His arm had a clean shot through, Victor’s early dips in the rivers keeping it seemingly clean enough to stave off infection and the skin to start knitting itself back together. 

Victor hated himself for it. He should have been more insistent that Yuuri wash too, should have helped him sooner when he struggled, should have paid more attention, should have cared…

It all came too late.

His spare fingers combed through Yuuri’s hair again, carefully stroking the raven strands away from the Japanese man’s face. Yuuri looked so serene, face soft and mouth relaxed, slow measured breaths passing through his gently parted lips. Victor wanted so badly to kiss him again like he had in the barn, to feel those breaths against his mouth for himself, to feel they were real. And maybe he would have… if it hadn’t been for Yura.

Yura shrugged from his chair by the fire, legs strewn over one of the arms and chair crooked so he could watch Victor out of the corner of his eye. His eyes stayed trained on the flick knife in his hand though, snapping the blade out, then in, out then in...

“That you’re a traitor,” he said, voice subdued. “A coward. An enemy to the Tsar and disgrace to the Russian army...”

He didn’t need to go on - Victor got the message.

He knew he should be upset. All the things he’d worked for and fought for for years were just gone in the blink of an eye; his wealth, his reputation, his future… everything. Gone. And the man he’d once looked up to as a father figure now bayed for his blood. Victor knew he should be upset about it, but…

He laughed humorlessly, fluttering his eyes closed. “Wow…” he breathed, shaking his head. He wasn’t surprised. “A nice public execution then, I’d imagine. Teach them all a lesson.”

He’d come to terms with it. 

He was going to die. He’d face his mentor one last time, face the men he’d betrayed before being marched out before the firing squad and a bag pulled over his head. Maybe on a nice high platform. Maybe not even in a military base - maybe in a nice public square for all of Russia to come and watch like it was just a show, like he was meaningless.

It wouldn’t be just a show though. It would be his death, the end of him, Victor Nikiforov struck off the face of the planet in the blink of an eye with a short splatter of blood. 

It would be terrifying if it wasn’t so unavoidable.

Victor didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care about his own life so much and his own inescapable fate. But Yuuri… yeah, he cared about Yuuri.

Across the cabin, Yura ‘tsked. 

“He wouldn’t waste another bullet on you after this,” he scoffed shamelessly, voice careless and cruel. “You’ll hang this time.”

Somehow that seemed even more frightening.

Victor’s smile slipped, heart skipping a beat. The breath froze in his lungs - just the way it would when the noose would slip around his neck and choke it out of him, never to draw another lungful ever again-

“You’d do that to me?” he gasped, barely audible.

Yura paused. “Yakov would.” 

“I asked you.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You have the only choice.”

Victor knew he wasn’t being fair - but he snapped his eyes away from Yuuri to glare across the cabin anyway, gaze narrowed and accusing. What did it matter?

Yura glared right back, sharp green eyes like razors over the blade of his switchblade. He didn’t answer. He just kept his mouth shut with a nerve in his young jaw twitching, biting back… what? Victor wasn’t sure the boy in front of him was the same one he trained anymore, the new Yura colder, more cruel...

His eyes flickered down to Yuuri, mouth downturning in the corner in distaste. “Why do you care about him so much? He’s not one of us.” 

Victor followed Yura’s gaze, settling on counting Yuuri’s delicate eyelashes one by one and brushing the stray hairs back from his sweaty forehead. He still felt hot, shuddering ever so slightly at Victor’s touch and frown pinching between his eyebrows. Victor wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

He hoped it was good. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if it wasn’t, how he’d possibly cope living with the guilt... 

“I just do,” he murmured.

Maybe he shouldn’t be making an enemy of Yura. He was probably Yuuri’s best chance of escape if he survived the infection, of getting free. Yura could hand Victor over for execution, the one Yakov really wanted. But Yuuri? He could let Yuuri go...

“How did you find us?” Victor wondered aloud, breaking his trail of thought. He couldn’t think about Yuuri escaping yet. He hadn’t even woken up yet.

Yura snorted from the fireplace. 

“That boy you punched out in the barn?” he glanced up, catching Victor’s eye with an unreadable expression. His chin tipped up proudly. “He’s one of ours.” 

Victor didn’t have to think long to remember. 

“Ah,” he said, cheeks blushing pink as he recalled,  his knuckles still a little grazed from the blow. It hadn’t been his finest moment. But it definitely beat putting a bullet between the boys eyes. “Yakov still has spies everywhere then…” 

He shouldn’t really be surprised. He should have realised the moment he’d seen the vodka crates in the barn, should have known that kind of trade didn’t happen in  _ China _ , to  _ Chinese _ clients, least of all for that amount of drink … it had been careless of him to overlook it. But he’d been so desperate, he hadn’t wanted to question a miracle.

He wondered how long it would take word to reach Yakov that he was here, that Yura had caught him. He still didn’t know exactly where they were. It didn’t matter really. 

Not for Victor anyway.

“You can’t stay in Russia,” Yura said quietly from across the cabin, breaking the silence unexpectedly.

Victor didn’t bother looking up.  

“I know.” 

They’d been working on that. Or at least, they would have been if they hadn’t gotten caught before they’d had a chance to figure it out...

“Got a plan?”

Victor just shook his head. “No.”

Looking back, they’d never had a chance…

For a moment, neither of them said anything. 

Victor didn’t expect much - Yura had caught him to hand him over to die, after all - but it still stung. It still hurt. He wasn’t sure what good talking would do though. If he had anyone to thank, it was Nikolai - who was sleeping in the cabin’s only bedroom, surgery taking its toll on the old man that he hadn’t dared let show earlier. 

Victor just let his eyes follow the colour slowly rising back to Yuuri’s cheeks - his hopes rising with it - and thanking whatever god was watching over them for this chance, praying they could just keep Yuuri safe for just a little bit longer...

“I know a guy.”

Yura said it so quietly, Victor wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it, fingers stilling at Yuuri’s hairline and breath catching silently in his throat. 

What was he saying?

Victor hardly dared flicker his gaze up, eyes poised low while he hung on the boy’s every last breath, let alone his words...

“Don’t ask me how I know him,” Yura went on, Victor feeling the pierce of his sharp emerald eyes bearing into his forehead, daring him to  _ look. _ Victor didn’t dare. Not yet, heart hammering in his chest with every syllable that fell out of Yura’s mouth. “But if you want out…” Yura gulped. Quiet - but not quiet enough. “He can help.” 

Finally, Victor looked up.

Yura’s eyes shone like a light in the darkness, but even though the shadow, Victor could make out the tense line of Yura’s jaw, the rebellious determination in his gaze… Yura may be many things, twisted by the army, too hard too young - but he wasn’t a liar.

Victor’s tongue darted out, wetting his dry lips. He didn’t need to think about his answer, voice almost unrecognisable as it rasped - desperately.

“Yes.”

_ Anything. _


	5. Chapter 5

Victor was a dead man.

That was what everyone said. Some swore they’d seen him get blown to bits, other claimed they’d seen him fall in a hail of bullets - body lost amongst the hundreds in the battlefield - and the rest claimed that they’d seen him bolt into the forest where he had no chance of surviving. Who could? There was no civilisation around the battle he’d fled from, nothing to save him.

Yakov’s pen hovered over the letters on his desk, still deciding which one to sign; desertion, killed in action….or missing.

Everyone said that Victor was dead.

Yakov wasn’t so sure.

Anyone else, he would write them off in a heartbeat. A normal person wouldn’t survive, would almost certainly be killed by the battle or the elements.

But Victor wasn’t normal.

Yakov had trained him, seen the blaze in Victor’s eyes when he’d faced the battlefield. His drive was beyond human, the burn behind his stormy crystal eyes something that had always curled Yakov’s stomach with an unease he couldn’t describe. His will to stay alive was uncanny. If anyone would survive the desertion, it was Victor.

Victor was out there, in the wilderness somewhere. Surviving, while he’d made a mockery of Yakov, a personal insult against his good name.

Yakov wouldn’t stand for it.

He wouldn’t rest until he saw Victor’s cold dead body with his own eyes.

He dropped the pen aside and scrunched up all the letters on his desk in one angry fistful. He wasn’t signing anything. Not until he saw Victor’s empty blue eyes staring up at him for himself.

He would find Victor.

And if the young Captain wasn’t dead already, he’d soon wish he was.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri recovered slowly.

In shakes and shivers, in nights raging with fever, in what felt like hours pinned down to the table top by Victor and Yura while he writhed and saw things behind his eyes that Victor didn’t dare linger on. He saw them too. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw them, haunting him.

The battle was always there.

There were days when Victor could swear he’d heard cannon fire in the distance. Times where a spoon clattered to the floor and Victor started like a bullet was flying towards him. Moments where Victor could feel his pulse so strongly through his veins he was sure he must be dead to appreciate being alive so much, glancing down at his palms just to see them swathed in crimson from his memories.

But then he blinked up, and he was back with Yuuri in the cabin. He was always back in the cabin.

He never left Yuuri’s side; he ate beside him, drank beside him, slept in the kitchen chair with his head on the table beside Yuuri’s. He helped him to the bathroom. He helped Nikolai change his bandages. He did everything, and he was glad for it.

Every time those big, bright russet brown eyes stared up at him, it made every second worth it. Every rise and fall of Yuuri’s chest, Victor was grateful for.

It could have turned out very, very different after all.

It nearly had.

“We need to get moving.”

“He can’t travel, Yura...”

“He can’t stay _here_ either.”

Victor could hear every word that Nikolai and Yura hissed from the back bedroom, nowhere near as secluded as they obviously both thought. Victor heard every word, listened to hushed conversations in the dead of night.

He didn’t say anything. He just kept his mouth shut and his fingers combing careful patterns through Yuuri’s hair as he slept.

He called out for Victor sometimes in his delirium, in his nightmares. Sometimes it was in broken little whispers. Sometimes it was in yells that had Yura burning with rage so fierce that Victor wondered if he would have just shot Yuuri by now to keep him quiet if Victor hadn’t been there to stop him.

“Victor…”

Yuuri blinked up at him though sweat stained eyelashes, gaze clashed with pain and fear and fingers reaching out across the table.

Victor never denied him.

If anything he clung to Yuuri’s hand like it was his lifeline, like as soon as he let go Yuuri might slip away and never wake up. Even when the wound started to heal, Victor never lost the fear. He struggled to sleep, shaken awake by nightmares of Yuuri passing out on the table and never waking up again when he wasn’t plagued by the flashbacks from the battlefield. They were just as terrifying as each other.

“Will he make it?” he asked Nikolai one day, dabbing a damp cloth over Yuuri’s sweaty forehead while the old man changed Yuuri’s bandages. Yuuri was out cold on the table … again.

Before, Victor had been so sure Yuuri would pull through.

Now though…

“That’s up to him,” Nikolai said gravely, not looking up from his task. “There’s nothing more we can do for him now.”

Victor’s jaw clenched.

 

* * *

 

Yura didn’t take his eyes off the soldiers in his kitchen, cleaning his gun with muscle memory while he sat in the living room armchair, legs folded over the arm. They hadn’t moved in hours, both fast asleep.

Yura still didn’t let his guard down.

He couldn’t.

He liked Victor … but by God, he didn’t trust him. He’d seen what the man could do, seen how he could kill with his bare hands, merciless and savage. Hell, he’d tried to teach Yura to do it too! There was no limit to what the Captain would do to protect his own life.

Or the Japanese boy’s too, it seemed.

Yura didn’t understand it.

He didn’t even speak Russian - how had he managed to wrap Victor, Russia’s greatest killer, round his finger enough to not be able to leave his side for a second? Yura trusted him even less than he trusted Victor.

A part of him hoped he’d die.

Dead, maybe Victor would start to see sense again. Might try and redeem himself with Yakov and restore his life if that was possible, or flee before the next sunrise if it was not. Instead, he sat there in Yura kitchen, neither coming nor going, while more agitated Russian forces mulled in the country land surrounding them, making escape ever more difficult. Orders were already coming through to prepare for relocation, to move - one letter from Yakov himself, warning the border patrol to be on their guard for deserters.

Yura wasn’t sure what had been told to the rest of the troops about Victor. If they all knew that Victor had ran, if they thought he was dead, or if he had just gone _missing_ … there was no one for him to ask. But whether the rest of the troops knew or not, Yura saw through the letter.

_Be on guard… for_ Victor.

Yakov knew he was alive.

And he was coming.

 

* * *

 

Breathing was the hardest thing. Every gasp of air was hauled in with effort like Yuuri had never known, ribcage heavy like it was made of lead and someone was sat on his chest, holding his lungs down. He couldn’t move to shrug them off if they were. He couldn’t move at all, pinned to the table by his own body weight and natural gravity. Maybe he was dying. Maybe he was already dead.

He wasn’t sure.

Yuuri fazed in and out of consciousness most days - though he couldn’t tell anymore if it was days, or hours, or minutes that passed anymore.

Everything looked the same.

The same ceiling stared down at him. The same halo of silver watched over him. The same black dots fringed his vision until he swooned on the table and everything went dark again. Yuuri didn’t know how much time had passed, how long he had laid there fighting for air and listening to quiet Russian lullabies sung softly into his ear while delicate fingers combed his hair back from his face.

Yuuri surrendered to them, clinging to the glimpse of silver hair and crystal blue eyes whenever his eyes fluttered open. His heart skipped a beat whenever he saw them, aching in his chest.

His lips tingled in memory from their time in the barn, feeling a lifetime ago now. He wished he could go back. That one night where they had been safe, and happy, their pain limited, the rest of the world falling away like it didn’t exist anymore. Yuuri wanted to go back. It was what kept him fighting to stay awake through the tempting darkness, forcing himself to stay conscious even though the ache in his bones was just _so much_.

He wanted to kiss Victor one more time.

Just once more.

 

* * *

 

It took eight long days for Yuuri’s fever to finally break. His wound stayed clean. His eyes blinked less cloudy. Colour started to come back to his cheeks day by day, shaking away the deathly paleness that had haunted him over the kitchen table for the last week. He started to look alive again - _actually_ alive, not just dancing on the precipice!

When he held Victor’s hand, Victor felt the _grip_ of his fingers, as weak as it was - but it was there! Yuuri was trying. Yuuri was fighting.

The thought alone had Victor pressing his lips to Yuuri’s knuckles in thanks, tasting the salt of his own tears on the soldier’s skin. He didn’t care. He was just glad that when he looked down, it was actually _Yuuri_ looking back at him, trying a weak smile. The husk of a man was gone.

Yuuri was back.

“Victor-san…” he sighed, eyelids drooping and head tipping back on the table with a small thud. Victor would have been worried - had it not been for the small smile playing on Yuuri’s lips.

Victor pressed his mouth to Yuuri’s knuckles again, lips smacking against the skin loudly. Victor didn’t care, smiling against Yuuri’s fingers. “I’m here, _milyy_ ,” he grinned, shameless - even with Yura watching him from the fireplace. “I’m right here.”

He knew Yuuri couldn’t understand him still, just as before… but he couldn’t help but think that Yuuri’s smile widened ever so slightly before he slipped into sleep, face peaceful.

Victor found himself mesmerised.

The sweat had dried on Yuuri’s skin, his temperature falling, and his brow smooth of the pained frown that had marred his features for his recovery. His lungs sucked in long, steady breaths now. His eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks in long, smooth strokes as he slept. He didn’t wince, or twitch anymore - he was content. He was going to make it.

Victor was confident in that fact as he carefully unbuttoned the top half of Yuuri’s shirt and peeled back the material from his shoulder. His finger teased underneath the bandages, sneaking a glimpse at the wound.

It had looked worse.

It wasn’t pretty. Yuuri’s once smooth skin was now marred with a shallow groove in his shoulder, skin an angry blistering red that Nikolai assured Victor was fine with his healing. The wound shone whenever the bandages were changed, blisters popping and skin looking stretched and strained where it knitted itself back together. Victor wanted to look away from it, to turn his head in disgust… but for Yuuri’s sake, he forced himself on, forced himself to be diligent with his care.

The wound would be fine. It would heal, leave a scar - but Yuuri wouldn’t die from it, wouldn’t lose his arm. That was what mattered.

But the infection … that could still come back.

Unless Victor looked after him.

The wound smelled clean now at least, the stench of rotting flesh and burning infection no longer oozing from Yuuri's shoulder like it had done when they’d first stumbled into the cabin. It was a good sign, Victor told himself, padding the bandages back down until Nikolai came to check on him in another hour. It would be fine.

Until Yura pulled up a chair across the table, legs squeaking against the kitchen floor. Emerald green eyes bore into him across the slow rise and fall of Yuuri’s chest, impossible for Victor to ignore.

“Victor,” Yura said, voice sombre. “We need to talk.”

Victor’s heart sank, eyes falling back to  Yuuri’s sweet, tranquil expression. He brushed his fingers through the raven hair at his temples, strands soft to touch. “I know.”

He wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t know what this was about. He knew. He’d known for a while, and had just conveniently chosen to ignore it for a little while longer, bigger things on his mind.

Little had been said about the escape plan.

Yura hadn't told and Victor hadn't asked, bigger priorities than risking Yuuri’s life on the road again before he was well enough to go. Like Nikolai said behind closed doors, he couldn’t travel. Victor hadn’t cared for a while - if Yuuri didn’t pull through, then escaping was meaningless for him anyway and there was no pointing in risking Yura and Nikolai’s necks for a boy that might just die on the road in a few days. He’d had to wait.

Now though, he was running out of time to ask Yura to be patient with.

The young soldier’s fist curled on the tabletop, knuckles white and fingers straining. His lip curled. “You must-”

“I know.”

Victor knew. Of course, he knew. They had to go. They couldn’t stay. Now that Yuuri was recovering, they had to go. Their time was up.

“When?”

Victor winced at Yura’s question, that one word harsh and to the point. He needed to be. Blunt was always Yura’s style, after all…

But Victor wasn’t sure of the answer. Yuuri was making good progress here, wound healing and infection subsiding… but out in the wilderness, Victor wasn’t sure how that would fare. Here, Yuuri could rest, sleep, recover. Out there… there would be little time to relax. He was acutely away of the risks, knowing he hadn’t quite saved Yuuri just yet, no matter how much better he might feel day by day.

“A week?” he offered, voice tense and stiff. Victor couldn’t help it. The pressure weighed heavily on his shoulders, crushing with the knowledge that Yuuri might still wilt and fail on the road despite Victor’s best efforts.

He couldn’t bear it, fingers tightening around Yuuri’s as he picked his hand up from the tabletop again. He couldn’t lose him.

A week was not enough, he knew. The burn might have healed well enough by then on the surface, but Yuuri would be weak - he’d been draped on a table for the last eight days! He’d not moved by himself, drank for himself, walked for himself in all that time, robbed of his strength and dignity… and yet he had to be ready to go, to trek across God only knew where in less than a fortnight. There was no way Yura would let them stay there that long, already outstaying their welcome...

“Five days,” Yura said.

Victor’s eyes fluttered shut, hauling a deep breath through his lungs. It wasn’t an offer. It wasn’t a suggestion. He didn’t have a choice.

“Fine,” he conceded. “He just hoped Yuuri could gather his strength in time. “Five days.”

 

* * *

 

Yura gave them six before Yuuri was strong enough to travel – and even then, only just. He still winced when he sat up too fast, still felt dizzy when he stood for too long… but he had no choice. The longer they stayed, the more they were all in danger. All of them. They were running out of time.

“Be ready to go when I get back,” Yura said as he ducked out the front door, pausing for just a heartbeat to glance over his shoulder.

His gaze linked with Victor’s.

Victor knew better than to do anything but nod.

It was time.

Yuuri gritted his teeth as he stood up from the kitchen chair he’d been sat in, knuckles white around the back and effort etched across his face. He’d been getting stronger… but Victor had no idea how he was going to cross a country in the state he was in. He was still in so much pain, even when he did move. He didn’t say it… but Victor could see it, gleaming in his eyes no matter how hard Yuuri tried to hide it.

What was he going to do? Victor watched Yuuri move with a heavy heart, watched his fragile steps, his careful movements… how? How were they going to make it?

He didn’t even know the plan.

Yura hadn’t said and Victor hadn’t asked, too preoccupied with Yuuri to think of much else. He didn’t know who Yura’s inside man was, how he planned to get them over the border, whether Yuuri would even be physically able to make the trip whatever it entailed. He knew nothing. He had nothing.

He regretted not asking - but when Yuuri had still been only on the bring of surviving, escaping hadn’t meant much to him if he had to do it alone.

Now though - fingernails curling against the tabletop, watching Yuuri - it meant everything.

He had to get Yuuri out.

“Hey.”

Victor jumped at the hand that clapped down on his shoulder from behind, heart leaping into his mouth. He only just didn’t jolt for his knife.

_Just._

Nikolai stood beside him, cap drawn over his greying hair and eyes kind from under the brim. A small smile played on his lips, a plain dark jacket pulled over his shoulders.

Victor couldn’t deny he was going to miss the old man... “Are you coming with us?”

“No,” Nikolai’s head shook, eyes lingering on Yuuri across the cabin carefully. There was a fondness in his eye, gentle and kind. “But I’ll see you off.”

Victor’s jaw clenched.

Of course, he would. Of course, Nikolai would say goodbye. He’d watched over Yuuri day and night for the last two weeks, nursed and cared for him, reassured Victor on the nights he just couldn’t get the tears to stop… he was an even better man than his reputation painted of him, too good for the cruel world he lived in.

Victor followed Nikolai’s gaze, watching Yuuri lean against the back of the living room chair with red cheeks, obviously trying to hide how much effort it really was.

He knew though.

Victor saw it all.

“He’ll be fine, you know,” Nikolai’s voice broke through Victor’s thoughts, quiet enough to stay just between the two of them.

Yuuri didn’t hear a word across the cabin.

It did little to calm the worry bubbling up in Victor’s heart though, nothing to smooth out the frown in his brow. “I hope so,” he murmured back, not taking his eyes off Yuuri. How could he? Yuuri couldn’t do anything by himself. He was going to need constant attention, constant help… Victor just hoped he’d be able to provide it once they left the safety of the cabin.

“I know so.”

Victor really wanted to believe him.

He really did. Nikolai sounded so sure, so quietly confident that Victor couldn’t help but wonder where he got his strength from. Victor only wished he could have faith like the old man did. Maybe it was age. Maybe it was experience. All Victor knew was that Yuuri looked as fragile as a newborn colt taking its first steps and he couldn’t help but quake inside at the idea of something happening to him. He looked so helpless, so vulnerable…

Then Yuuri flickered his head up from his white knuckled grip on the chair and his gaze met Victor’s, glistening and fragile… and determined as hell. A small smile played on his lips, nothing lighthearted about it at all.

One nod at Victor, solid and undeniable - and Victor felt the breath in his chest hitch audibly, heard Nikolai chuckle beside him.

“He’s a fighter, alright,” the old colonel murmured in amusement. “Just try and stop him.”

Victor felt his jaw slacken, but he didn’t do anything to fix it as his lips ghosted open, gaze locked on Yuuri. _Of course_ , he thought. He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten how strong Yuuri really was, had gotten too used to doting on him. This was the same Yuuri that had followed him through the forest with an open stab wound and an infection burning through his system before they’d found help, having never once complained. Every time he’d fallen down, he’d gotten right back up again. He’d forced himself to survive. He’d endured surgery in that very cottage. He’d pulled through the recovery all by himself through sheer willpower alone.

Victor was underestimating him. Yuuri had already done that hard part - all the hard parts - of their survival. He was still fighting, even now.

It hadn’t killed him then.

It wasn’t going to now.

A switch suddenly flipped in Victor’s head and he gasped, eyes widening as the thought hit him - it wasn’t just willpower that had saved Yuuri.

He jerked his head up.

“T-thank you,” he stammered, voice breathless and eyes popped wide as he turned to Nikolai. He couldn’t believe he’d nearly forgotten. He nearly hadn’t said anything, after all this, after all that Nikolai had done for them. “For everything. I can never…” _never thank you enough,_ went unsaid, Victor’s teeth clamping down on his lip as he felt it start to quiver.

He could never repay the debt he owed the old man now, the relief he felt at the fact that Yuuri was still alive indescribable. Saying it was one thing - but Victor couldn’t even say it, words choking in his throat and tears stinging in his eyes.

He sucked in a shaky breath, blinking fast. “Thank you.”

It was all he had.

And even that Nikolai wasn’t going to take from him.

“Thank _you_ ,” the old man smiled, turning and clasping Victor’s hand tightly in his. “I’m glad I got to save one more.”

Victor’s mouth dropped open… but no words came out. He’d never thought of it that way. Nikolai would have seen plenty of boys and men that needed medical help in the wars, he guessed, help that there were never enough doctors to administer. Treating a patient was nothing new for Nikolai, the emergency surgery, the raging risks…

But how many of those men and boys he’d treated on the battlefield had survived? How many had he just had to make as comfortable as he could before they slipped away, because that was all he could do?

Victor didn’t want to think about the answer.

No wonder Nikolai always looked at Yuuri with such a fondness in his eye, with such a tender sparkle. As Nikolai had said; one last one he’d been able to save.

Nikolai didn’t pull his hand away and nor did Victor, holding the old man’s gaze as the thoughts raced through his head. Until - after a beat - he realised that it was Nikolai holding _him_ , not the other way around.

And then he noticed the vial being pressed into his palm.

“For the pain.” Nikolai says quietly, before Victor could ask, eyes flashing briefly before Victor could look down. “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got left I’m afraid. It should help the worst of it.”

Victor’s eyes blinked wide.

He forgot how to breathe, stunned into silence and frozen rigid with shock. He was glad Nikolai still had his hand clasped in a _handshake_ , pressing the vial between their two palms - he would probably drop it on his own in that moment, numb with shock.

Nikolai’s eye just sparkled though, glittering with mischief. “Don’t tell Yura.” His head shook once, sadly. “He wouldn’t understand.”

Victor’s fingers tightened around the vial under Nikolai’s grip, holding fast.

He didn’t know what was in it. He didn’t know the name of the medicine or how it worked or how much Yuuri needed … but he knew that Yuuri did need it. And Nikolai was willingly surrendering it, trading Yuuri's pain in for his own. That pinched expression that lurked on Yuuri’s face when he moved, that strained ache behind Yuuri’s eyes when his breath caught in just the wrong way and Victor could _see_ the jolt going through him as his body seized up... it didn’t have to be that way with this vial. Yuuri could save his strength. He could keep going just that little bit longer with the pain subdued, and that little bit longer might just be all they needed to escape Yakov's seemingly endless reach. It could be their ticket out. Their real chance.

And Victor really could never repay Nikolai for that. He’d probably never even see the old man ever again.

His spare hand curled in the shoulder of Nikolai’s jacket before he thought about it, tugging the old man forward into Victor’s arms. Their chests thudded softly, Nikolai gasping out his chuckle. Victor didn’t know what else to do but to cling tight. Words simply weren’t enough this time.

He said it anyway though, breathless - _“Thank you.”_

Victor pressed his eyes shut over Nikolai's shoulder, so nobody could see the way they sparkled.


	6. Chapter 6

“Put these on.”

Yura was as eloquent as ever when he came back to the cabin an hour later and tossed a bag at Victor the moment he was through the doorway. It hit Victor square in the chest with a quiet ‘oomph’, dropping into his arms and the former Captain’s gaze falling with it. He didn’t need to ask what it was. He could figure it out.

He caught Yuuri’s frown over his shoulder.

“Clothes,” he explained, fingers tugging on his own shirt collar for emphasis knowing that Yuuri wouldn’t understand his Russian. He’d understand that though.

Especially when Victor dropped the bag entirely to pluck the buttons on his shirt, shrugging his sleeves off the moment they were loose enough to slither out of. Yuuri picked his own shirt open a little more warily, eyes shifting between Victor and Yura with steadily reddening cheeks.

He couldn’t do it on his own, it turned out. 

Victor was by his side in a second helping Yuuri’s slide the shirt over his shoulders the second he winced trying to shrug it off himself. Victor slipped it off carefully, thumbs gliding softly over Yuuri’s skin.

Yuuri’s cheeks darkened. 

Behind them, Yura ‘tsk’ed. Victor could practically feel the boy’s eye roll in the back of his head, hearing him shuffle awkwardly by the doorway.

Victor didn’t care - when Yuuri’s shy little smile flickered up at him, clutching the shed shirt close to his chest, it was all he needed. 

They dressed in silence. Worn cotton shirts that fitted better than Victor expected with loose fitting trousers, and a brown newsboy cap for Victor. He slung it over his silver locks, tucking a few longer strands from around his face under the brim, out of sight. He guessed that was the point of the hat after all - to hide his most noticeable feature. Their old uniforms were tossed aside carelessly. Victor wasn’t sure what Yura would do with them. Burn them, he hoped, destroy all trace of them ever being there.

He assumed they’d keep there boots. Strong leather that had seen them well through the wilderness and would hopefully continue to do so. They didn’t quite fit in with the farmer’s look, but Victor didn’t see any alternative.

Until Yuuri reached into the bag and pulled out two pairs of black cotton slippers, like Victor knew the locals wore.

His heart sank bitterly.

“ _ Korera _ ?” Yuuri’s eyebrows pinched together, holding the shoes up questioningly. 

For once, Victor understood perfectly. 

“These shoes?” he translated to Yura, his own eyebrows disappearing up into his hairline sceptically. “Really?”

They were thin and flimsy, worn cotton soft and far from the sturdy that could travel through woodland and across mountain ranges. That could weather rain and snow, wind and rivers. Victor didn’t have a clue what their escape route would entail… but these shoes didn’t look ready for the unchartered territory. 

Yura just scowled, narrowing his eyes at Victor. 

“Shut up and stop complaining,” he snapped, tone razor sharp. “We need to get you out of anything that can be traced to the military.”

Victor knew he was right… but he didn’t want to admit it, reluctant to surrender his trusted boots for those…  _ things. _ They would definitely blend in better though, wherever they were going in Manchuria and beyond. Leather boots would mark him out as an outsider, as a foreigner - and that would be exactly what the Russian military would be looking for if they  _ were  _ looking for him. 

Yuuri changed stiffly, movements careful and stilted to not jostle his wounded shoulder too much. Victor helped where he could. 

He couldn’t help thinking the clothes suited Yuuri more than the harsh military uniform had. The soft cotton emphasised his round cheeks, his glowing eyes, and thick eyelashes, fluttering uncertainly up at Victor as he dressed in a way that made Victor’s heart stutter. The only thing he kept with him from his old attire was his gun holster, hidden under the long hem of his shirt. To anyone else, Yuuri could pass as an ordinary farmer rather than a Japanese deserter. Victor guessed that was the plan.

The thought hardened his heart a little as he strapped his dagger just under the waistband of his trousers, comforted to have it close. He didn’t know what to expect. He wanted to be prepared.

“Keep the bag,” Yura said from the doorway. “Grandpa can give you some water and some money. Beyond that though … you’ll be on your own.”

Victor didn’t look up.

Every word sunk in slow and steady, the reality hammering home more with each one. They were really doing this. They were really going on the run.

Victor stared down at his uniform on the floor. The things he’d done for that uniform… it had been what he’d lived for for nearly two decades, medals shining up at him that he’d once worn with pride now blood splattered and worthless to him. It was over. His life as Russia’s hero was over.

He didn’t feel a thing as he scooped it up in his arms, crossed two paces across the room and hauled it into the fireplace with a hiss of sizzling coals.

Victor Nikiforov, the soldier, was dead.

 

* * *

Leaving the cabin was more nerve wracking than Victor had been prepared for. His eyes scanned the treeline relentlessly, sharp and suspicious, waiting for an unfriendly face or a gun to poke out of the foliage. He couldn’t help it. He was stepping back out into the wilderness, leaving their sanctuary. Anything could be waiting for them out there, anything…

The bag was heavy over his shoulder, laden with water, vodka, bandages, some scraps of food, and just a little money, enough to get them by through China. Yuuri’s medicine hung from a chain around Victor’s neck. He wasn’t willing to let that out of his sight, least of all in a bag that could easily be taken from him.

If everything else was lost, Victor would cling to that medicine like his life depended on it for Yuuri’s sake. He’d seen the pain flash over the Japanese man’s face as they’d first set out on their journey, body protesting. Yuuri need it. And Victor needed Yuuri.

He hadn’t said anything to Yura.

Like Nikolai had said, Yura wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t be as kind. Victor was very much aware that he’d only put himself through so much risk so far for Victor’s sake - not Yuuri’s.

He didn’t say anything though, following Yura silently through the forest and trying to get used to the sudden lightness to his feet. The cotton slippers were nothing like his old boots. It felt strange to be able to  _ feel  _ the ground beneath him again, to be able to step nimble and agile.

Yuuri adjusted faster than he did. 

The Japanese soldier slipped behind Victor so quietly that he could have disappeared into the forest and Victor would have never missed him go. It was uncanny. 

If it were anyone else, it would have been scary.

His fingertips on the back of Victor’s shoulder blades were the only indication that he was still behind them, following trustingly.

He had no idea where they were going after all, Victor thought. Yura could explain the plan to Victor, but no one could do it for Yuuri. He didn’t understand any of them. So far, he hadn’t said a word since they’d left the cabin, clinging to the back of Victor’s shirt like he thought someone might rip him away from out of the trees. For all Yuuri knew, they could. It could be a trap for him, a chance to hand him over for Victor’s freedom -  _ anything _ ! He had no way of knowing. And no one could tell him.

So Victor felt no shame in reaching back and gently prising Yuuri’s grip out of his shirt, lacing their fingers together instead. Yuuri held on tight.

Victor held on tighter.

Victor wasn’t sure how long they walked for. Between his weakness, their trepidation, the same trees passing them again and again, it could have been minutes or hours that could have passed and Victor still wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. Everything looked the same. 

Until it didn’t.

Victor felt Yuuri stiffen first as the forest suddenly stopped and Yura stepped out onto a dirt path, fringing a wasted crop field.

With a barn.

A barn with a round cut out in the rear facing wood panel.

Victor’s cotton shoes kicked up dust on the dirt road as he skidded to halt, eyes wide and fingers tight around Yuuri’s. The barn… the barn they’d hidden in. They were back on the farm. The same field, the same wasted crop lines…

“The barn…” Victor just stared across the field, stunned. “We’re back …” 

It had been so close all along. 

The barn in which they’d found their first ray of hope, felt their first real flicker of danger since fleeing the battlefield, shared their first kiss… they’d never really ran away from it. They must have been even more disorientated than Victor had first thought after they’d fled being caught. All those days wondering and they had been just a few hours away from the place the whole time...

No wonder Yura had found them so easily. 

And now, they were going back.

Yura glanced back over his shoulder from further down the road, smug smirk playing on his lips. “I told you it was ours, didn’t I?”

 

* * *

They followed the road. Rough, crude and well trodden with tracks, until the barn was long gone over the hill behind them, more farmland spilling ahead. Victor wondered how often Russians rode through there, how many more outposts there were nearby. They’d have to duck all of them somehow if they were going to escape. If they were going to make it, they couldn’t be caught again. 

It was easier to follow the path than track through the forest though, Victor stretching his legs a little longer with every stride. It made him feel taller. Settled his nerves. Made him feel more like the proud man he had been before the whole war had started.

He even walked with a spring in his step, fingers loosening their tight grip around Yuuri’s to play patterns over the other man’s knuckles. 

For the first time, he almost felt excited.

If they could get out of Russian territory, they could be free. He wasn’t sure where they would go yet. Further across Europe? They could go to Paris, or London, or Vienna. They could make new lives for themselves. Something quiet, Victor thought to himself, something humble that would keep them off the radar. They could wait tables in a cafe or open their own hostel. They could learn new languages - maybe one day they’d learn each others, would be able to hold a conversation with each other that actually  _ meant  _ something.

Like talking about that kiss. Like talking about the war. Like talking about how Victor felt just as reassured holding Yuuri’s hand as he did holding onto his when they’d been told they should be enemies.

They could do it. 

They could be free.

The farmhouse brought it all to a shuddering halt though.

It sat in the middle of a large stretch of land, well built and study compared to most of the farm buildings Victor had seen across his travels. It’s walls were a dark wood with a red slate roof, body of the house a large square block with adjoining smaller rooms running along its side with an outhouse out the back. 

“Is this it?” he asked, feeling his hopeful feeling slip back into sharp caution, senses heightening warily. 

Yura didn’t answer.

Victor’s skimmed the horizon as they followed Yura down the path towards the house, a few paces behind and steps less sure. Yuuri saddled up closer behind Victor. Victor was glad to have him close. 

He drank in every inch of the place. Every blank windowpane, every tightly planked wall, every well filled doorway. If there were any eyes watching them, they weren’t coming from inside the house. It was solid. Victor almost wanted to say  _ safe _ … outside of the cabin though, he didn’t trust that word. He wondered if he ever would again. 

Yura didn’t break stride as he trotted up the front steps to the front door and banged his fist against the wood in three hard thumps, the whole door rattling with the impact.

Victor winced.

He hung back at the bottom of the stairs by the banister, ready to throw himself and Yuuri to the ground should a soldier, or rifle - or  _ anything wrong  _ opened that door. His knees braced to run, hand tight around Yuuri’s.

The door opened with a creak, slow and painstaking.

Victor held his breath.

Until an old Chinese man filled the doorway and Victor let the air sigh out of his lungs with a slump of his shoulders.

He was no danger - at least, not in the obvious sense. His frame was small and frail, head held high though his eyes were slitted so thin that Victor couldn’t tell if they were open or closed. Maybe he was blind? His old robes were plain dusty brick red, hair braided back in a typical long Manchu braid down his back with his temples shaved. 

Victor just stared - was this the man that was going to help them?

“Altin,” Yura said, holding the old man’s eye… at least, Victor thought he did. 

The man didn’t even blink.

He just stepped back and threw the door open wide, Yura not wasting any time striding through so fast he made the old man’s robes rustle. The old man didn’t seem fazed. Yura came often, Victor pieced together. 

What that actually meant though, Victor wasn’t yet sure.

He was a beat slower in following, regarding the man with a long, measured stare that he didn’t return before he stepped up the stairs and crossed the porch, eyeing the man warily as he walked slowly through the doorway. The old man’s expression didn’t change, lazy indifference in his face. Victor found it intriguing as he did odd, trying to ignore the suspicion budding in his chest. It wasn’t the time. 

Yuuri was just as reluctant as Victor, arm stiffly linked to Victor’s as he followed into the house, tension radiating from him. He jumped as the front door thudded shut loudly.

Victor didn’t blame him.

Yura hadn’t bothered to wait, it seemed. Victor glanced around the hallway, just an empty spanse of square landing with simple wooden flooring and plain panels on the walls. No flash of blonde. No Russian uniform. Yura had disappeared, three open doors connected to the hallway all as innocent looking as the next. Victor had no idea which one Yura had gone through.

“Al-tin?”

Victor felt Yuuri jump behind him at the old man’s voice, thickly accented and croaky, flashing them a toothless grin as he waddled past. It took a moment for Victor to understood what he’d said. 

_ Altin…  _ that had been what Yura had said at the door, hadn’t it?

Victor nodded before he could stop himself. “Yes,” he said. “Altin.”

He tried not to grimace as another mouthful of gums beamed at him and the old man shuffled past, long robes brushing over the wooden floor. A bony finger crooked over his shoulder. 

Victor glanced back at Yuuri. 

Round cinnamon eyes stared back at him, lips slightly parted and eyebrows upturned ever so slightly in doe-eyed innocence. Victor’s heart melted, fingers squeezing Yuuri’s gently. 

They could do this.

Victor followed the old man through the furthest door, steps slow and measured to compensate for the old man’s limp. The old man wasn’t dangerous - of that, he was quite sure. What he might be leading them to though … Victor had no idea about that. 

His hand reached for his belt instinctively, fingers tracing the pattern of the hilt of his dagger and feeling reassured at the simple contact alone.

The old man stopped at the end of the next corridor.

For a moment, Victor just stared. 

He could hear voices drifting through the slightly open doorway, recognising Yura and… whoever it was that would help save them, he hoped. They spoke in Russian, quiet words under their breaths that Victor couldn’t quite make out. 

His fingers touched the wood of the door, holding his breath for a moment. He hoped he wouldn’t be wrong about this.

He pushed.

The door swung open with a creak and the first thing Victor saw was books. Endless rows of books lining the walls in shelves and bookshelves, propping up the gramophone on the desk pressed against the wall and stacked along the floor. There was even a pile of them on the couch under the window, under the stool in the corner.  

And on the stool, sat Yura.

Leaned back casually against the wall with his arms folded loosely over his chest and one leg draped over the other, eyes sparkling and something almost akin to a smile tugging at his young lips…

He’d never seen Yura so… happy. For once, the boy actually looked his age, the weight of the pressure of his life lifted off his shoulders.

They stiffened again the second he caught Victor’s eye in the doorway, smile slipping away. He pushed up off the wall, straightening up tensely. 

He nodded to his companion, in the middle of the room. “This… is Otabek.”

Victor just stared.

The man -  _ boy _ ! - wasn’t quite what Victor had expected. Shorter than Victor imagined and squarely built, Otabek couldn’t have been more than eighteen as he met Victor’s eye with a stoic expression. His hair was raven black and his brown eyes dark, his skin pale enough to pass as European but not quite Russian. Victor couldn’t place it. 

It wasn’t important, he decided, pushing it out of his mind for another time. He didn’t need the man’s history or friendship. He just needed to know how he planned to get them out of Russian territory.  

Victor swallowed his uncertainties, steeling his gaze. “You know who I am.”

It wasn’t a question.

Otabek’s cool, unreadable expression didn’t change. “Everyone knows who you are.”

“And you still want to do th-”

“ _ Victor _ !” Yura hissed from the corner, eyes flashing dangerously into narrowed emerald slits in the corner. “Do you want his help or not?”

Victor didn’t answer immediately.

He just met Yura’s glare with his own, fierce and determined; he wasn’t going to back down, not until he was sure. It was his life he was talking about if he got this wrong, Yuuri’s life… he didn’t want to take any chances. Being sold out tomorrow was just as dangerous as being sold out today. 

“You won’t get out of Manchuria without it.”

Victor’s attention snapped back to Otabek at the sound of his voice, as calm and stoic as the unreadable expression on his face. Victor couldn’t tell what he was thinking behind the mask…

But he knew the man was probably right.

Victor and Yuuri’s plan so far had been nothing but survive, take each day as it came. Food. Water. Wondering. 

It wasn’t enough to make it out though, Victor painfully aware of that fact as he watched Otabek cross the room to the desk, nimble fingers plucking through the assortment of papers there. They needed help, help maybe Otabek could give.

Victor had no choice but to give him a chance.

“Here are your new identities.”

Otabek turned, holding a set of folded papers out to Victor with a sharp flourish and a rustle of paper. 

Victor recognised the ruby red of a Russian passport.

He took it carefully along with the papers stuffed in it’s pages, haphazard and clumsy - like a traveller would do, stuffing his documents in his pocket. Victor was impressed at the level of thought that had obviously gone into them.  They even felt the part; rough to the touch as he turned it in his fingers, checking every inch.

“You’ll find everything included,” Otabek went on as Victor flicked open the cover. “Passport, exit visa, travel documents… if anyone stops you, show them this. You’re just ordinary travellers.”

“Just ducking under the nose of the Russian military,” Victor murmured more to himself than anyone, thumbing through the documents.

They looked real enough. Worn case and dog eared pages, like the documents of a rough sleeping, cheap traveller like the facade was supposed to be. The stamps looked right, everything was the right colour, permissions and declarations worded exactly as Victor remembered his real one to be like… to a soldier, it looked the part. Victor still held his breath about the border control though. 

Especially when he saw the mark that declared he had already crossed out of Russian soil marked on the paperwork. “This exit visa’s already got the border stamp.”

Otabek didn’t flinch.

“You’re not going through border control,” he said. “That’s for if you get stopped in China. Proof of your  _ legitimate  _ travel.”

They weren’t crossing the border, Victor pieced together, snapping his mouth shut - at least, not legally. Not on a train, or a car. And that only left paths a little more … rough. He didn’t dare complain; they were right to avoid the border checks. They would be crawling with Russian military defending the Manchurian line from the Japanese, if they Japanese hadn’t already taken it for themselves.

It was a lose-lose situation. They couldn’t go through border control, but they had to prove on the other side that they had done so legally to avoid being sent back.

_ Smart,  _ Victor reluctantly thought, nodding to himself.

He thumbed through a few more pages, pausing when he found the one he was really interested in.

“Dimitry Larionovich?” he read, scoffing a little and eyebrows drifting up into his hairline. He flipped open Yuuri’s paperwork too. “And Shen Li?”

Otabek just shrugged. “I had to pick something you could pronounce.”

It took everything in Victor to hold back his tongue as his mouth dropped open to retort, eyes narrowing and cheeks blushing traitorously. He wasn’t even sure the man meant it as an insult, his expression so painfully placid it was difficult to tell....

“It doesn’t sound very Japanese...” Victor grumbled, gaze dropping back to the papers.

“That’s because it’s not. It Manchurian. If they find him and suspect him of being a Japanese spy, he’ll be executed on the spot. So, from now on, he’s Manchurian.”

Victor’s eyes snapped up at that, concerned. “The locals will never buy it.”

Yuuri didn’t look Manchurian. His complexion was different, his eyes a different angle, his hair not in the long braid Manchurian men sported like the old man that had led them into the house…

It was a flaw. A risk.

Not that Yuuri could grow a braid overnight or change his skin tone. It was all they had. Victor just hoped his fellow comrades didn’t look too closely to see the differences between the Asian men.

“As long as the Russians do,” Otabek agreed with Victor’s unsaid sentiment. “He’s been working in the West, according to his passport. That’s the story we’re going with.”

Victor just nodded.

He grazed over the papers, drinking in his new identity, very much aware that his life may depend on it. His birthday had changed, his hometown had changed - everything that had marked Victor Nikiforov’s identity had been scrapped and replaced with a mishmash of information that formed up Dimitry. Victor was Dmitry now, Victor told himself, new name spinning round and round his head like a record.

“He’ll be of great help to you,” Otabek went on. “The Russians would be looking for you on your own after all. Nobody knows you’re with someone.”

Victor’s eyes snapped up, dark and warning. “I’m not using Yuuri as a human shield.” 

All this was to keep Yuuri alive more than himself, after all. He wasn’t about to throw Yuuri in front of a bullet to save his own hide.

He felt Yuuri nudge closer behind him at the sound of his name, felt the warmth of his body heat oozing off him. It took everything in Victor not to drop the papers and just swallow Yuuri in his arms, whispering reassurances and quiet sweet nothings. He could feel how anxious the Japanese man was behind him, air thick with tension. He didn’t have a clue what was going on after all, didn’t know what they were talking about.

“If we’re lucky,” Otabek’s expression didn’t change. “You won’t need to.”

“If we’re  _ lucky _ ?!”

Victor felt his patience snap, rage firing through his veins and fingers tightening their grip so hard they left fresh,  _ real _ dents in the travel papers.

His eyes bolted to Yura in the corner. “Yura, what the hell is this?!” 

He hadn’t sign up to offer Yuuri as bait or someone to throw away as a distraction while he bolted off into the sunset. They were supposed to be doing this together, escaping together. Victor hadn’t spent so much time begging Nikolai to save Yuuri just to throw him into the line of fire later on.

Yura’s eyes narrowed.

“Your best shot of getting out of Russia undetected, asshole,” he bit back, not moving from his place.

_ At Yuuri’s risk _ … Victor didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit…

He knew they didn’t care for Yuuri the way he did. Yura loathed Yuuri, trained to believe he was the enemy and only keeping him alive so long because of Victor’s wishes. And if Otabek had his instructions from Yura, then Victor imagined Yuuri’s safety wasn’t high on his priority list either. He had to protect him, he was the only one that could look after Yuuri.

Even if that meant sticking to the plan that put him at risk - it was still their best shot. Victor reluctantly dropped his gaze back down to the papers. He had to do this right.

“It says here I have black hair,” he read from the description page of his passport, everything exact in his description from his shortened hair to his now scrawny build… but his hair was still silver. The papers said black. Victor whipped the cap off his head, silver locks shining in the daylight streaming through the windows and meeting Otabek’s stare head on. “It’s not.”

Altin didn’t seem fazed. Yura must have told him what to expect. “We can fix that.”

“How?”

“Dye.”

That one word punched the air out of Victor’s lungs, said so bluntly, so mattered of fact… his hand drifted up of its own volition, fingers combing through the soft bangs that fallen over his face. 

He loved his hair. He loved the way the silver caught in the light. He loved the way Yuuri stared at it like it was made of starlight itself. He loved the way it set him apart as special, marking him as a shimmering star amongst all the blonde, and brunettes, and redheads… he didn’t want to touch his hair. But for Yuuri...

Victor swallowed thickly. “How do I do that?”

He had to. For Yuuri.

His distinctive silver hair would be the first thing people would be looking for it they were looking for him. It would mark him as a target right from the get-go.

Otabek grabbed a little black pot off the corner of the desk, unstoppered it and handed it over to Victor. Victor could already smell the fumes from the bottle, wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant fragrance. He wondered what was in it, already convinced that whatever it was would absolutely destroy his hair.

“Take your shirt off and put this in your hair,” Otabek said. “It should work.”

Victor’s eyes snapped up. “Should?”

Otabek shrugged.

“Enough that nobody but those who  _ really  _ know you would recognise you.”

_ Nobody then _ , Victor answered in his head, biting the inside of his lip to stop the words actually coming out of his mouth.

He had to do this.

“What about him?” Otabek said, nodding behind Victor and drawing the Russian back out of this thoughts.

Yuuri shrunk closer to Victor.

Victor reached back with one hand, holding Otabek’s eye warningly as his fingers curled with Yuuri’s, gripping tight. “What about him?” he asked coldly. They were not touching Yuuri...

“Does he understand?”

_ Of course not, he doesn’t understand Russian, _ Victor said curtly back in his head, smart enough to stop the words spilling out aloud. It wasn’t what Otabek wanted to hear.

“He will,” he just said coldly. 

Victor would do all the talking. Yuuri couldn’t read the Russian or Chinese characters on his papers, but Victor would make it so he didn’t need to. All Yuuri would have to do was keep quiet, keep his head down, and stay inconspicuous by Victor’s side.

Otabek still stared though, the weight of his gaze bearing uncomfortably into Victor. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all...

“Fine…” he bit back, shooting Otabek one last dark look.

He turned slowly, reluctant to turn his back to the man for even a second and his spine crawling when his eyes finally had to look away to Yuuri. He didn’t fully trust him yet, didn’t like how vulnerable they were around him. With one word to the right people, Otabek could have Victor six feet under in no time, Yuuri too.

Victor couldn’t think about that now though. They didn’t have time for suspicion. 

“Yuuri,” he said, voice as soft as he could muster as his eyes linked with Yuuri’s, lingering their tangled fingers together. “Don’t call me Victor. My name is Dimitry now.” 

It was all in Russian and Victor felt a fool for even talking, Yuuri’s big brown eyes staring just as innocently blank as they had been when Otabek had first said it all. He didn’t understand. Eye-contact and Victor’s voice wouldn’t make Yuuri suddenly understand Russian.

Victor slipped his fingers free of Yuuri’s at his side, bringing his hand up to press flat against his own chest. “Dimitry,” he repeated, palm thudding against his chest lightly.

Like the first time he’d introduced himself. 

Yuuri just blinked at him, big Bambi eyelashes batting. “D-Dim…” his tongue stuttered over the new name, voice quiet and fragile. His eyes pressed shut for half a beat, face scrunching in concentration. When they opened again, they were solid with determination, glittering strong. “Dimitry-san?” Yuuri tried again.

Victor smiled. 

That had worked better than he’d imagined. 

“Yes,” he nodded, head bobbing fast. “Yes, and you-” his hand left his chest, pressing carefully over Yuuri’s left breast instead. “-are Shen.”

For a moment, Yuuri just stayed quiet. 

Victor watched the cogs turn behind his glittering eyes, watched the brain cells connect and make sense of what he’d just tried to communicate. He didn’t take his hand away from Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri didn’t ask him to. He wasn’t about to rush him, though he could feel Yura and Otabek’s gazes on his back, weighted with a growing tension, concern building the longer the silence stretched on. 

Yuuri would understand, Victor knew. He wasn’t stupid. All he had to remember was these names, and Victor would take care of the rest.

But it would only take one mistake to trip them up, to end it all. 

Victor didn’t say anything. He wasn’t going to patronise Yuuri and assume he didn’t understand - if Yuuri didn’t get it, he would say so. 

It took an extra moment of waiting … but then, Yuuri nodded, eyes sure. 

“ _ Wakarimasu _ .”

Victor nodded back, smile still in place. “Great.”

Yuuri’s lips twitched in the corners nervously, eyes flickering over Victor’s shoulder before they linked back to the old Captain’s. The anxiety was creeping back in - Victor could see it. He could also see Yuuri’s eyes glisten with the effort of fighting it back, holding onto his composure. He was being brave.

He  _ was  _ brave. Victor didn’t have a shadow of doubt about that as he held Yuuri’s eye fondly, hoping the young soldier could see in his eyes that it would be okay.

Yuuri nodded again. “ _ Hai _ .”

Victor gave Yuuri one last reassuring nod before he glanced back over his shoulder at Otabek, smile slipping and eyes narrowing curtly. “Happy now?”

 

* * *

An hour later, Victor knelt by the well behind the farmhouse and tipped a bucket of water over his head, the water running black as it splashed down onto the ground. The dye washed out, thick and gloopy. It stained his fingers with every ruffle of his newly darkened hair, eyes scrunched shut as much as they could during the rinses, not wanting to see until he couldn’t avoid it anymore. He tried to keep the dye away from his trousers, body bowed over to avoid any black drops running down his bare chest and staining.

He was glad of the solitude for that moment, needing the quiet to gather his thoughts. They were really doing this. 

He wasn’t Victor anymore. 

He was Dimitry Larionovich; black hair, blue eyes, born 18th March 1885 in Moscow, in Manchuria to explore new farming ventures for his father’s business. That was his life now, he told himself, repeating the information over and over again.

He was still murmuring it quietly to himself as he stepped back into the farmhouse through the backdoor and trailed the short corridors back to Otabek’s room. They’d left him a cloth on the door handle. He dabbed his damp hair with it before he stepped back inside, chasing all the running dark drops trying to trickle over his chest. He could still feel his ribs beneath his thinly stretched skin like a xylophone. 

He sighed to himself, hand resting on the door handle - Dimitry Larionovich felt completely different to Victor Nikiforov. He felt alien in his own skin.

He wrenched the door open before he could linger on it.

The moment the door opened, Victor caught the swing of Yuuri’s black hair as he swung around and heard his gasp before his hands clapped over his mouth, bright brown eyes wide with shock. 

Victor just grimaced - yeah, he knew how it must look too. Dark. Very dark. He didn’t look like himself at all anymore.

He guessed that was the point.

“Well, it worked,” he grumbled, plucking his shirt carefully out of Yuuri’s hands and slinging it over his shoulder, glaring at the dark strands hanging in front of his left eye with contempt. Yuuri wasn’t looking at him with doe-eyed fascination anymore. He was looking at him like… like he was just a man.

Victor suddenly remembered why he’d been so driven in the army, what exactly had spurred him on the be the best.

_ Anything but ordinary _ , he remembered telling himself all those years ago.

Now the one thing he hated was the one thing that would keep them safe.

He was still buttoning up his shirt with one hand when he caught Yuuri’s eye and stepped forward, lacing his spare hand through his. He forced himself to smile, seeing it mirrored back at him through Yuuri’s stunned, wide eyes.

“It’s me,” he said, not sure if he meant it more for Yuuri or himself, clinging to his strength for Yuuri’s sake. “I’m still me.”

He knew Yuuri didn’t understand his words, but he hoped he understood the plea in his voice, the look in his eyes… everything was getting very real know, the danger of their escape looming ever closer. And now Yuuri’s only recognisable ally looked completely different.

Victor quirked his lips in the corners and squeezed Yuuri’s fingers. 

Hesitation stared back at him, cautious, reserved… and then the tiniest of nods, with the smallest quirk in the corner of Yuuri’s mouth.

Yuuri’s fingers squeezed back.

Victor breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s time.”

He barely heard Otabek behind Yuuri, but the voice didn’t irk him as much as it had before. He knew it wasn’t the man’s fault - he was in just as much a dangerous position as they were if it all went wrong, all of them facing the firing squad if they got caught. 

He didn’t look as tense as before though as he moved up from behind Yuuri, the Japanese man turning to stand behind Victor so they could talk.

Otabek just held out the papers, his eyes dark as ever. 

He nodded once. “Just get out of Russia.”

Victor nodded back.

Otabek didn’t need to remind him. 

The papers felt unnaturally heavy in Victor’s hand as he took them and tucked them into the pocket in the front of his shirt. They’d probably be safer in the bag… but Victor felt better having them close, being able to  _ feel _ them with every thump of his heartbeat. Those papers were their best chance. 

“You’ll be taken by cart out of Manchuria,” Otabek said as he strode past Victor and scooped their bag from the corner of the room, carrying on through the open doorway. 

Victor followed, hand in hand with Yuuri.

“Stay down under the tarp at all times,” Otabek went on over his shoulder as he led them back through the house to the main hallway, Victor and Yuuri following close behind, with Yura bringing up the rear. “There’s a false back in the cart if you get searched. Guang Hong will give you a signal. Keep out of sight as much as possible. You want to stay unseen until you are on that train halfway through China, understand?”

Otabek’s boots thumped loudly as he trotted down the porch steps and shoved Victor’s pack into the back of the waiting cart. It looked like just any old farming wagon, laden with crates poking out from under a beige tarp draped over the cargo. Their shield, Victor thought to himself.

He had only one question - “Who’s Guang Hong?”

Otabek waved Victor round the cart. The Russian followed, letting go of Yuuri’s hand for just a moment as he rounded the cart and the back of the strong, plough horses to-

Victor skidded to a halt, eyes popping wide.

“This is Guang Hong,” Otabek said with the smallest of smirks. “I believe you are familiar with each other.”

Adjusting the straps on the horse’s bridle with gentle hands and a kind look in his eye towards the animal… was the brown haired boy from the barn. The boy Victor had punched. The boy Yuuri had tried to  _ shoot _ .

Victor felt his heart drop into his stomach.

The boy’s chestnut brown eyes flashed wide, hands freezing at the tack and the small smile that had been playing on his lips falling flat. 

Victor could hardly blame him…

_ He couldn’t see Yuuri, _ was Victor’s first thought. Victor may have punched him - eyeing the lightly freckled cheekbone he’d plowed his knuckles into just over a week ago and wincing - but Yuuri had tried to  _ kill him _ . He still had the same pistol that he’d aimed squarely between Guang Hong’s eyes. 

His panic must have shown in his face, eyes just as wide as Guang Hong’s and lips hovering apart, not quite sure what to do with them yet.

“Don’t worry,” Otabek said. “It’s fine. He’s not one to hold a grudge.”

Victor just blinked, stunned. 

He wasn’t reassured yet. “B-but Yuuri-”

“-is fine. He understands.”

_ It wasn’t personal, _ Victor wanted to say, holding Guang Hong’s eye and watching the shock slowly trickle away, the same warm glow that had held them carefully flooding back. It hadn’t meant anything. It wasn’t him. They had just wanted to survive. Even if Victor had the voice to say it, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find the words even in Russian - let alone Chinese! Instead, all he could say was-

“I’m sorry,” he spilled, words numb over his lips. He didn’t care he spoke in Russian. He could see in the boy’s surprised eyes that he understood. “I’m so sorry...”

It wouldn’t make up for them pointing a gun between his eyes…  but it was all they had.

“He’s going to take you into China,” Otabek said, drawing Victor’s attention back. The weight in Otabek’s gaze wasn’t something the Russian could so easily ignore, dark and serious. “From the city, you’ll get a train. Your documents should be enough to get you tickets from there. After that...”

Otabek tipped his head to the side, mouth tugging down in the corner. 

Victor got it.

He nodded automatically, but it was another moment before the words  _ really _ sank in, heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears nervously. Otabek’s sentence was easy to finish for himself - after that, they were on their own.

The thought was harrowing, Victor’s mind racing as his gaze fell away from Otabek’s. 

After they left, that was it.

No more help. No more second chances. No more backups. It would be down to them to survive all over again, their fate back in their own hands again. They’d either make it… or they wouldn’t.

Victor swallowed the lump in his throat as he helped push Yuuri up into the back of the cart, his arm from his wounded shoulder clutched protectively to his chest. Victor didn’t miss his wince all the same. The vial of Nikolai’s medicine rested light against his skin under his shirt, a quiet reminded of what was to come. It was going to hurt. There was going to be pain. It wasn’t going to be easy, and Victor would have to help Yuuri at nearly every point. 

That was what he’d signed up for. That was what he’d agreed to - he had no second thoughts about it though. Not one. 

“Thank you,” he said breathlessly, clasping Otabek’s forearm tightly and holding the man’s eye with a sharp nod. They owed this man an unpayable debt. If they made it out alive, if they really escaped… Victor couldn’t even begin to describe what that freedom meant for him any Yuuri. It was everything.

Otabek’s fingers clenched around Victor’s forearm. 

“Don’t stop,” he said quietly - quiet enough for only Victor to hear. It sent Victor’s nerves on edge in a heartbeat. “Mukden was lost. Russia’s forces are retreating. They’re burning villages...”

... _ and anything along the path that got in their way _ , Victor pieced together for himself, understanding bitterly. 

Chances were, if the cart got caught, it wouldn’t be a simple stop and search anymore - it would be destroying anything the Japanese might be able to get their hands on. Russian vodka would be a good target. And if they were discovered, with Russia’s defeat still fresh and bleeding… Victor didn’t want to imagine what they would do to Yuuri, papers or no papers. 

He swallowed thickly, not daring to linger on it. It didn’t do any good. The plan couldn’t change now. All they could do was keep their heads down… and pray.

Victor’s body felt heavier than he remembered as he hauled himself up into the back of the cart behind Yuuri and perched himself down on the edge of one of the crates behind Guang Hong’s driver’s seat behind the horses. He’d duck down eventually. For now though, he just wanted to look at the world for one last time before he lost it all to the beige of the tarp for God only knew how long.  

“Good luck,” Otabek nodded, arms folded beside Yura at the porch.

The teen just stared up at Victor with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher, eyes hard as marbles and mouth tense. For a moment, Victor didn’t think he was going to say anything. Then-

“Don’t die, you idiot,” Yura spat out, tone just as forceful as ever. “I don’t want to see you again.”

Victor nodded, a humourless smile playing at his lips.

They both knew what that meant after all, neither one of them foolish enough to pretend other side - if they saw each other again, it would only when they were lined up before the firing squad. Victor hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He prayed - harder than he ever had for anything in his life - that they wouldn’t fail.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So normally, we save the translations for the end, but.... when you hit 'Ai shite iru noda to omō', you might want to find out what that one means straight away. Just sayin'. I don't think you will regret it...
> 
> Also, super thanks to my girl [Dedica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dedica/pseuds/Dedica) for beta-ing this chapter for me <3

The tarp swayed with the movements of the cart, Victor watching the shadows on the underside dance with the motions. He watched them with a scowl, with narrowed eyes through the wooden planks of the cart’s false bottom – like at any moment, a Russian soldier would tear it away and find them, haul them back to Yakov to face their fate. It was possible. They were still in Manchuria, in Russian territory. Victor had no idea where the Russian army was or where exactly they were heading. 

Guang Hong had seemed to think it was safe for them to sit leisurely in the back of the cart while they travelled and only hide when he saw people coming on the horizon.

But it left Victor feeling vulnerable, relying on Guang Hong’s eyes.

He wasn’t taking any chances.

He and Yuuri stayed trapped under the wooden framework all through the days - barely even a foot deep - only coming out under the darkness of night to eat before they retreated back to their hiding place. It was tough. It was dark, and cold, and cramped… but it would do. It had to. The risk of sitting out in the open - where anyone could see - was simply too great.

Victor kept himself sane trapped by focussing on Yuuri, rationing his medication and allowing him short sips when his breathing got just a little too harsh too quickly and the sweat glistened off his skin.

He could barely see him in the darkness, precious little sunlight piercing through the tarp and what little that did barred by the wood framework of the cart’s false bottom above them. Yuuri’s eyes just gleamed out at him through the shadows, round and glittering… but trusting. Victor’s fingers reached out carefully, feeling through the darkness. His palm smoothed over Yuuri’s cheek, thumb brushing the soft skin under his eye.

His face tipped up in Victor’s hand, mouth tilting closer and lips parting. Victor’s eyes dropped down to them, heartbeat racking up a few notches.

It felt a lifetime ago since they’d kissed.

Their night in the barn was long gone now, nothing but a distant memory from when their lives had been ever so slightly less bleak. The truth hadn’t quite settled in yet then, Victor thought. If he was honest with himself, back then it still hadn’t quite sunk in the consequences of what they’d done, that they would have to leave Russia, that they would have to find somewhere else to survive and call their home…

He’d still thought they’d get caught back then. Deep down, he thought that he’d never survive his desertion for so long, clinging to Yuuri in that one moment of peace like it was his last chance to feel love before their fate descended upon them.

Victor’s thumb drifted lower, grazing ever so softly over Yuuri’s lips. They were dry and chapped.  _ Dehydrated _ , Victor thought sadly. He didn’t dare use up any more water though. They were already running low.

He was glad they were still alive though. Even if it meant that he had certain choices to face that he’d never thought mattered before.

He’d kissed Yuuri in the barn thinking they’d both be dead after a week.

They weren’t.

They might actually  _ live _ through it, not just survive. Now, the kiss meant more. The way Yuuri’s eyes gleamed at him under the cart told him it meant more to him too, that it wasn’t entirely just a burn of relief that night. Something more glowed in the Japanese man’s eyes, something soft and tender that Victor didn’t want to put a name to.

The longer he left it though, the more that look would grow, he knew. More kisses would only make it worse.

What would they do when all this was over?

Would they stay together? Would Yuuri leave once he would safe? What if one of them survived but the other didn’t?

Victor didn’t know what the future held, and for all the things that might hurt Yuuri to come in their potentially short lifespans, he didn’t want to be one of them. The drive to keep the boy alive was becoming more than just human compassion.

He felt his gaze soften to mirror Yuuri’s, thumb pausing at the corner of Yuuri’s mouth. He felt the air disappear between them with Yuuri’s gasp.

“ Ai shite iru noda to omō …” Yuuri murmured, so quietly his lips barely moved.

Victor had no idea what it meant.

He just dipped down before he could think better of it and pressed his mouth to Yuuri’s, kissing him softly.

It was barely anything more than just the press of lips against the others, gentle and intimate – and when Victor sucked in a breath, chest hitching sharply, it was air from Yuuri’s mouth he breathed in. It was as close as they could be. It soothed Victor’s fast beating heart, stopping his overthinking mind from wandering, calmed his ever-present panic that he buried so deep down. His arms wound around Yuuri, their fingers tangling together as Yuuri found his hand.

Victor held on tight, fluttering his eyes shut and relishing the feeling. He could feel Yuuri’s fast heartbeat through his shirt, chests pressed firm together.

His lips cracked in a smile, peeling away from Yuuri’s.

“You need to rest,” he smiled despite himself, tipping his head forward so their foreheads touched. “It will help your healing.”

Yuuri just pouted.

Victor knew he couldn’t understand him, but it made him chuckle quietly all the same, stretching his arm further around the Japanese man and holding him closer.

They had their own way of communicating. Through tones, and expressions, and touches – words didn’t matter so much. Maybe one day they would be able to hold a conversation; in Russian, Japanese, or something new from where their new life might end up… Victor still dreamed of it, despite himself. He dared let himself hope.

It was the quiet that bothered him the most. Between the grating roll of the cart’s wheels on the ground and the plodding hooves of the horse, there was nothing else to listen to. Guang Hong would occasionally sing. They couldn’t even hear anything to warn them to be quiet – not the thunder of an army retreating, nor the sound of gunfire, nor a commander barking out orders - but Victor held his tongue all the same. Like Yakov might be able to hear him through the very ground itself. The bottles clinked in their crates above them, comforting and nerve ratting at the same time.

Victor just held onto Yuuri tighter, pouring out his soul whenever Yuuri dipped up for a slow, lingering kiss.

They slipped in and out of sleep.

Yuuri always slept after he’d had a dose of his medicine, eyes rolling and head growing heavy on Victor’s shoulder. Victor didn’t mind. The rocking of the cart often lulled him off too, wrapped up tight in each other's arms, sleeping the most they had gotten the chance to since they’d deserted. They needed the rest, Victor told himself. They needed to save their strength for the rough journey ahead. They had no idea how long it would take to get to freedom after all.

Most days passed uneventfully. For what it was, it was peaceful; the slow plod of the horse’s hooves, the steady roll of the cart’s wheels along the dirt road, Guang-Hong’s quiet humming…

Until one day, Victor woke with a thunk.

His head was thick and groggy as he lifted it up from the hard wooden floor of the cart, eyes blinking fast to adjust to the shadows dancing under the tarp. He frowned, taking a minute to remember where he was.

Yuuri was still slumbering beside him, an arm slung over Victor’s middle and mouth hanging open as he drooled quietly onto Victor’s sleeve. 

Then Victor heard it - “What’s this then?” 

He stiffened in a heartbeat.

_ Russian. _

He didn’t recognise the voice - not that it would have been any comfort even if he had. Everyone was an enemy now. They had no more friends in Russia.

The cart had stopped, Victor suddenly realised. Everything was still. The bottles didn’t rattle, the horse wasn’t plodding - Guang Hong was talking outside the cart, speaking in babbling Chinese, fast and ludicrous. How could anyone understand what he was saying?

“Russian!” another soldier barked.

_ More than one _ , Victor pieced together in his head, holding his breath. He didn’t dare breath, slotting his hand over his mouth to muffle his noise. Was it just two of them though? Three? Ten? An army...

More rambling Chinese answered the soldier though, just as unintelligible as before. Victor didn’t like not being able to understand.

He was helpless. 

Victor didn’t feel very safe even underneath the framework at that moment, knowing that even that wouldn’t protect them if the soldiers decided to stab through the cart or burn it.

They were still vulnerable.

He shook Yuuri awake quietly, hand slotting over the Japanese man’s mouth. One sound would all it take to draw attention… and then it could so easily be over.

Yuuri’s eyes shot wide the second he woke up, crossing over the bridge of his nose and flinching away from Victor’s hand over his mouth. A noise squeaked out of him - Victor hoped he’d muffled it enough for the soldiers not to hear. Yuuri still struggled through, breathing hard and fast against Victor’s fingers, wide eyes darting around the underside of the cart. He was panicking, Victor thought with his heart pounding in his chest, shuffling closer as fast as he dared.

By some miracle, the cart didn’t creak.

He loomed in over Yuuri, hand still clamped over his mouth and the other one pressing over his own lips, begging the Japanese man to be quiet. They had to stay silent.

Yuuri’s eyes didn’t find him immediately. 

It took Victor a minute to realise why - his hair. His hair was just as black as the shadows that surrounded them, blurring him into something just as terrifying in Yuuri’s eyes. Victor could see it - Yuuri’s gaze darted around like Victor was part of the darkness, not honing in on  _ him.... _

… until he finally found Victor’s eyes. 

His own gaze widened when he caught them, Victor’s heart stopping in his chest when Yuuri froze beneath him and sucked in a gasp through his fingers.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They didn’t dare to. Victor’s fingers softened over Yuuri’s mouth but he didn’t fully pull away, not sure how Yuuri would react, not sure if he was aware of the situation. He knew too little himself - nowhere near enough to gamble their lives with.

Yuuri flinched as glass clinked from the framework above them, Guang Hong pulling out a bottle from one of the crates. His eyes pressed shut, brow furrowing.

He looked in pain.

More Chinese muttered down from outside the cart, but it didn’t sound panicked despite the angry Russians it was bartering with. Guang Hong was calm - chirpy even! Was he… was he trying to  _ sell  _ to the Russians?! Victor’s eyes popped in the darkness, ears straining to try and catch every last word that he still couldn’t understand. He couldn’t believe it - of all times for Guang Hong to get chatty, why then?! They needed to  _ go. _

He wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad sign when the Russian’s started muttering, too quiet for Victor to make out what they were saying, until-

“Search it.”

Victor didn’t dare move at the whip of the tarp being pulled away, catching the daylight peeking through the gaps in the crates spill over Yuuri’s face below him. He snatched a hand out to stop Yuuri from flinching, fingers finding the soldier’s wrist and holding it pinned down. He just knew. Yuuri did that.

The boy’s eyes gleamed at him from beneath him as they snapped open at the light, wide and frightened. His spare hand was tight around his pistol at his belt, Victor noticed. 

That was fine.

Victor let go of Yuuri’s wrist to clutch to his dagger for dear life too. If they were caught, their weapons would be their only hope.

He still didn’t move off of Yuuri though. 

He didn’t know if the soldiers had muskets or guns or swords, but either way, he was much more willing to put himself between the danger and Yuuri than he was to let them both face it head-on. If they shot through the bottom of the cart, Victor would take the bullets. If they stabbed, Victor would take the blade. If they burned it, Victor would kiss Yuuri goodbye before the flames scorched his back. He would defend Yuuri to his last breath.

Neither one of them dared move as clinks and thumps sounded above them, the cart shifting with the weight of a soldier climbing aboard and cargo shifting. If they moved, if they drew the eye in any way…

Yuuri’s eyes strayed.

Victor watched them wander with a terrified heart, watched them drift from his own to over his shoulder, watching through the floorboards at the perils above.

His fingers softened around the Yuuri’s mouth, trailing a path up along his soft cheekbone to ghost down the side of his face. Yuuri shivered beneath him, eyes fluttering. A silent gasp passed between his lips. Victor wasn’t sure what he’d been trying to achieve honestly, but this worked - Yuuri was silent, calm. His gentle fingers tilted Yuuri’s face straight again, guiding his gaze back to his own.

The urge to kiss him hit Victor strong and unforgiving. He wanted to close that little distance between them, to taste Yuuri’s mouth on his - to relax Yuuri or to say goodbye in case of the worst, Victor wasn’t really sure anymore. One wrong move would be all it would take to give them away…

Victor’s thumb dragged over Yuuri’s bottom lip, snagging on the dry dehydrated skin. A sweat had started to break out over Yuuri’s forehead, skin glistening in the darkness.

But his eyes… they gleamed bold and bright, blown wide with fear or desire - Victor wasn’t sure anymore. He let more of his body weight settle against the soldier, watching Yuuri’s cinnamon gaze darken at the contact.

They couldn’t do it - not there, not then … but  _ god _ , Victor wanted to.

He wondered how far Yuuri had gone before. If he’d ever been in love. If he had someone waiting for him back in Japan....

Victor wasn’t that experienced himself. Working his way up the ranks took time and effort that left seldom time for leisure. Sure, he’d kissed a man or two in his youth, taken a handful of lovers in hasty, desperate fumblings … he’d never felt desire like this though. Desire that went beyond skin deep, that left him wanting to see Yuuri writhe out of his soul with pleasure and leave him stripped bare. Exposed in more ways than one. 

The thought was driven out of his head by a hard thump from above, a gasp slipping traitorously through his lips. 

Victor slapped his hand over his own mouth, cursing himself.

Yuuri went rigid beneath him, holding his breath.

They both listened, ears pricked for any sign that the false floor of the cart would be ripped open, that they would be discovered, that they would have to fight tooth and nail to get away if it was even going to be remotely possible…

It never came.

Instead, something clinked, the cart shifting gently.

“This…” the first Russian voice said again, gruff and dripping with disdain from above. “This is ours now.”

Victor didn’t hear what Guang Hong said to that - if he said anything at all. What could he possibly say?  _ No _ ? To armed Russian soldiers that almost definitely outweighed him in both size and number? Not if he valued his life…

They both held their breath as they listened to more clinking from above. What did it mean? A bottle? A crate? Victor prayed the soldiers would be content with taking a crate or two of vodka for the long journey back to Russia instead of taking the whole cart. They could easily take the whole cart. Who would stop them? God only knew how Victor and Yuuri would escape then. Victor was already forming a plan, a million scenarios running through his head with every passing second. He had to escape. He had to-

The cart lurched suddenly - and a dull thud sounded as the soldier jumped down from the wagon, feet slapping against the winter-hardened ground.

“All clear, Captain.”

Victor’s eyes fluttered shut in relief.

A grunt was all the soldier got in reply. And the sound of liquid sloshing in a bottle; the Captain was drinking already?  _ Just what had happened in Mukden _ , Victor couldn’t help but wonder. If it had been that bad… how many men were dead? Russian and Japanese alike. 

If it had been a bad loss, Yakov wouldn’t be happy. It would make him even more dangerous, even more desperate to get a victory like capturing deserter Victor Nikiforov.

Escaping Manchuria was only their first step to freedom, after all. 

It didn’t end there.

Once out of Russian territory, they still had to get  _ away _ . Victor didn’t feel safe even remotely near Russia. And China was little safer after the rebellion just a few years ago, that had slaughtered foreigners in their droves. He was willing to bet that not everywhere in China was fully at peace with it, resentment still harbouring deep down, lying in wait for the next spark of rebellion to fan it into a flame...

Beyond China though, Victor didn’t have a plan. Yura had only promised to help him get out of Russia. Once he and Yuuri were out of Manchuria and their cart reached Beijing as agreed, they were on their own again.

Victor was planning. 

Praying.

He knew it would take a lot of both to get them through it all.

Neither of them moved under the cart though, still in Russia’s conquered territory for however short a time it was theirs before the Japanese swept through. Would they meet any Japanese before they got to China? Victor had a feeling Yuuri’s countrymen wouldn’t be as kind about seeing a cart full of Russian cargo as his own had been…

Yuuri gasped as the cart shifted behind them by the driver’s seat and the structure heaved forward, clop of the horse’s slow hooves hitting their ears. 

A few minutes later, two knocks rapped on the wood from Guang Hong’s seat.

_ The secret knock. _

_ Everything was fine, _ two knocks said.  _ But stay quiet. Stay hidden.  _ The rapping of a tune - any tune - would be the all clear, and Victor wasn’t relaxing until he heard that clear as day. 

Even then, he wasn’t getting out of the back of the cart today. 

He wasn’t risking anything anymore.

 

* * *

There was no goodbye when they got to Beijing. Guang Hong parked the wagon, tended to his horse and pretended not to notice the two foreigners sneaking out of the back from under the tarp and disappearing into the winding alleyway behind them. They had made their farewells the night before. 

As soon as they were out of sight - hidden in the shadows of the alley - Victor swung his jacket over his shoulders. 

It was something Guang Hong had picked up for him in one of the villages they’d passed through. Nothing fancy - just a casual, soft brown blazer that sat just a little tight around Victor’s middle. He couldn’t do it up around his waist, even if it had had buttons on there to do it, but it sat well enough on his shoulders and didn’t make his dark cotton trousers look as shabby as they had looked before.

More importantly, it gave him camouflage. If anybody had seen them get out of the back of that cart, they’d be looking for a man in a white shirt - not a brown jacket and stringy tie. It could buy them precious time if the worst happened.

His hand was tight around Yuuri’s behind him, leading the Japanese soldier through the tight alleyway while he slipped a paperboy cap over his darkened locks. 

Dimitry Larionovich was passing through Beijing on his travels to Europe. 

That was the story.

He repeated it like a mantra through his head as he wove quietly through the busy Beijing streets with Yuuri in tow. When he bought the train tickets at the station. When they boarded their carriage. When an elderly Chinese passenger asked him for a match to light his smoking pipe.

Not one person asked for it.

Even the ticket master at the train station had barely glanced at him before handing over the train tickets, taking the money silently. 

It wasn’t what he’d expected.

He didn’t feel safe though. His hands twisted fretfully in his lap, eyes darting around the carriage warily every few minutes just waiting for someone to be watching back. They never were though. Eyes were down, minding their own business, and paying no heed to the Russian man travelling in their midst with his Japanese companion. 

Yuuri didn’t share his anxiety though. He sat wedged tightly beside Victor on the cramped seat, playing a card game with the Chinese children sat opposite them.

He was smiling. 

He was happy.

Victor wished he could preserve that image. Yuuri smiling - laughing! Who would have thought that after surviving desertion, going hungry in the forest, being discovered - that after all that, they’d be playing card games again? It hadn’t been a part of the future Victor had envisioned.

His lips twitched stiffly at the corners watching the game unfold, watching the glee in Yuuri’s eyes sharpen into intense focus and melt back into joy again. He was very expressive. Victor couldn’t see the cards, but he knew exactly how the game was going just watching the expressions dance over Yuuri’s face. It was so endearing, Victor feeling his chest grow tight with every passing second that he watched.

And when Yuuri glanced up, his heart damn near stopped entirely.

He’d always known Yuuri was handsome. But well fed, well rested, dressed in clean clothes that weren’t soaked in blood or sweat…  Victor really saw how attractive Yuuri was, the light sparkling in his eyes simply mesmerising. He would never get tired of it.

That shy little glint was what motivated him to keep going the most, watching it flicker with uncertainty and drop back to the cards in his hand. Victor wanted to protect that. Despite all they had been through and all they had seen, Yuuri still held that little naivety about him. That innocence that gave Victor a spark of hope he’d never dared allowed himself before. He had to protect it. That innocence was the only thing worth fighting for now.

Even when Yuuri looked away, Victor didn’t stop staring. He found new things about Yuuri to capture his attention. How his hair was longer, brushing over his eyelashes, how his cheeks were fuller than before, how his skin was brighter… he looked so  _ healthy _ compared to the wreck he’d been when he and Victor had first collided. 

Victor wondered what he would look like if the war had never found him; with neat hair, what his natural shape was, how he liked to dress. There was so much about him yet to discover that Victor couldn’t wait to find the time to indulge in one day.

He just hoped he was given the chance.

Yuuri glanced up at him over his cards, cinnamon glittering shyly at him through thick dark eyelashes that blinked carefully. They widened a fraction, shifting ever so slightly.

Right over Victor’s shoulder.

Victor felt a chill wash over him.

Dread crawled down his spine, the fine hairs at the back of his neck standing on end in warning. He turned his head slowly.

He could almost see the Russian uniform out of the corner of his vision, could see a hand at the man’s belt  \- around a gun? - could  _ feel _ the glare being drilled into the back of his skull. Victor’s heart was in his mouth, forcings his breaths to stay calm and measured even though he was practically screaming in his head-

“ Piào?”

Victor vaguely recognised that word, spoken over his shoulder. He paused in turning, frowning instead - that wasn’t Russian.

He whipped around the rest of the way, his bangs swinging over his eyes with how fast his head moved. The air rushed out of his lungs as soon as his arm braced against the back of his chair, a smile twitching over his lips in relief.

_ “ _ _ Piào,”  _ the Chinese train official said again, harsher this time. 

Grumpy looking with a foul grimace curling his lip - probably in distaste at Victor’s rudeness - the man glared at Victor with narrowing eyes, hand held out to the Russian palm up. His other was at his belt, curled around his puncher. Victor’s smile widened. It definitely wasn’t the terrifying Russian soldier he’d been expecting. 

But he didn’t exactly look friendly either.  _ Piào -  _ what did that mean? Victor wracked his brain for the little Chinese that he knew. 

Across their seating booth, the mother of the children sat across from them had her tickets in hand, fanned out with her fingers. Suddenly, it clicked, Victor’s blinking wide.

Damn, freedom was making him stupid...

Victor hoped the ticket guard didn’t notice his fingers shake as he fumbled for his and Yuuri’s tickets from the inside pocket of his jacket, mouth running dry. He had them. He  _ knew  _ he had them. They had just been ther e! If he just gave the man the tickets, the faster he would  _ stop looking at Victor _ like he might recognise the Russian at any moment, and -

“ _ Dozo _ .”

The tickets passed under Victor’s nose right in front of his face. He recognised the pale tan of Yuuri’s hand handing them over.

Soft cinnamon eyes stared at him as the conductor punched their tickets and Victor let his breath hitch, allowing himself to indulge in the oxygen he so desperately needed. He needed to calm down. Like Yuuri. The more he panicked the more he drew attention to himself.

He sucked in another sharp breath as Yuuri’s hand smoothed over Victor’s thigh, squeezing comfortingly. A gentle smile played on Yuuri’s lips as he leaned forward, soothing the tension holding Victor’s heart in a vice grip. Victor felt a little more of the weight lift of his shoulders, body slumping ever so slightly.

It stiffened again the moment he realised that Yuuri had spoke in Japanese - he was supposed to be Manchurian according to his new identity! - but the ticket conductor had already moved on. The card game was restarting with the children. Nobody had noticed.

And Yuuri nodded once at Victor, deliberate and careful. He’d got this. Everything was fine; they weren’t dead yet. 

Victor let himself sigh and smoothed his fingers gently over Yuuri’s over his thigh, squeezing back. He let himself smile. He was a third of the way across China. A third of a country away from Yakov. He could keep going.

He leaned forward and dealt himself five cards from the deck, bracing his elbows on his knees to lean into the huddle. 

Yuuri’s smile stretched wider.

 

* * *

 

When they got to Hankou, the place was swarming with Russians. Victor’s good mood from winning three card games evaporated in an instant.

He ducked them into alleyway the moment they were off the train - just to be careful - eyes wary of every pale face that passed, scanning carefully over the crowd.  _ Looking _ . He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. A handful of soldiers looked familiar. And if he could recognise them, they could recognise him. 

Yakov must have figured that if Victor was still alive, he’d be escaping. And Hankou was the biggest port in China. 

It was their best chance. Yakov knew that.

Victor had been planning to get on a ferry. On a merchant ship, on a travel cruiser - anything that was travelling down the river away from Russia, destined for a long journey.

But everywhere Victor looked all he could see were Russians.

Soldiers stood guard at the ticket booths.

They stood at the ships entrances with the ticket wardens.

They stopped men in the crowd - any white man not in uniform - searching them, comparing their face to a small picture that Victor couldn’t see, but could guess what it was.

_ Him _ .

They were looking for him. 

He needed a new plan. They’d be caught in a heartbeat if they tried to get a ticket, if they stepped foot on a boat, if they even tried…

Victor’s eyes scanned along the bank of the Yangtze, desperate for an alternative. Every ship was guarded, from the big cargo vessels, to the tiny fishing boats. Nothing was left open, nothing.

Victor pulled his cap a little lower over his face and held Yuuri’s hand tight, weaving through the tight throng of crowds through the alleyways. Out of the square, out of sight - that was their best shot at getting through.

Getting  _ out  _ though…

They couldn’t stay.

Stay, and they would be found eventually like rats in a barrel. It would just be a matter of time before they were hunted down.

Victor slipped into a crooked nook in the network of alleyways, dropping Yuuri’s hand and pressing his back against the jagged uneven stone. His mind whirled, working out a solution desperately. He had to do something…

His fingers tightened around the shoulder strap of the bag on his back, weighing up his options. The soldiers were looking for him - but they didn’t know about Yuuri. They couldn’t. They couldn’t possibly know about him. Maybe Victor should just give everything to Yuuri - the food, the money - everything. Let Yuuri get a ticket, let Yuuri escape. He’d be alone… but he’d be alive. 

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than cool fingers smoothed up the side of his jaw though, tilting his face up. Eyes the colour of coffee were waiting for him. 

“ _ Victoru,”  _ Yuuri said, tongue rolling softly around the last syllable. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, eyes flickering nervously down to Victor’s mouth. “Onegai…  p-pozhaluysta...”

Victor was too mesmerised to chastise him on using his real name.

Yuuri was speaking  _ Russian _ .

Where had he learned that? Victor didn’t really care, he decided, straightening his back off the wall with his wide eyes aglow and heartbeat thumping hard right through his fingertips. He’d never felt so alive. He closed his hand over Yuuri’s, lacing his fingers through his over his own cheek. It helped focus his mind, concentrate. He made his mind up quickly.

They weren’t separating.

They’d stand together or fall together – but Yuuri wasn’t leaving him. Victor was glad of it – Yuuri was his best chance of survival after all. He was his motivation to fight.

Then he noticed the sweat glistening on Yuuri’s brow, eyes popping just a fraction wider.

“Yuuri…”

He was in pain. The sweat was always a sign he was in pain, whether he showed it on his calm face or not. His eyes though… Victor cupped his hand over Yuuri’s cheek, holding his face steady as he leaned closer for a better look. Yuuri’s eyes were cloudy, the once bright brown slightly more misted than before. His breathing was a little laboured; Victor hadn’t noticed it a moment ago...

He was loosening his tie in a heartbeat now though, tugging it free from his neck just enough to pull out the vial of Yuuri’s medicine out from under the collar of his shirt. He thumbed the stopper open, holding it out to Yuuri.

The Japanese soldier took it after a pause, with a shaky breath – it was like he hadn’t noticed himself flagging until that point.

“One sip,” Victor warned quietly, holding a finger up.

Yuuri nodded.

It was a shorter sip than even Victor had been expecting though, the liquid barely passing Yuuri’s lips before he was righting the vial again, prising the cork from Victor’s fingertips with a quiet determination in his steely eyes. He was being brave, Victor knew, fighting the pain.  _ Good _ , Victor couldn’t help but think. Once the medicine was gone, there would be no getting more. That was all they had.

He held Yuuri’s eye as the Japanese man calmly stoppered the bottle and reached over Victor’s head to sling it back around his neck, tiny vial settling squarely on his sternum.

Yuuri’s hands didn’t pull away though, fingers lingering at where his neck met his shoulder. With every blink his vision got clearer, the firm line of his mouth slowly softening. His lips twitched in a mockery of a humourless smile, hands moving slowly down the Russian’s chest to straighten his tie at the base of Victor’s neck. 

It reminded Victor of when his mother had straightened his tie at his medal ceremony years ago when he’d first become an officer. _ So proud _ , she’d said. Of her son being heralded for bravery. At the time, Victor had been proud too, chest swelling with joy at the glittering look in his mother’s eye, proud that he’d been able to give his life meaning beyond the farm that he’d been born on. 

Victor didn’t feel proud now though, under Yuuri’s eye as the knot of his tie slid smoothly to the base of his throat. No - all he felt was lucky.

He hoped that he could stretch that luck just a little longer.

Yuuri’s eyes flickered up, solid brown meeting glittering blue. His mouth twitched again, solid determination written on his face. “Ikuzo.”

Victor didn’t know what it meant. 

But he could guess.

His hand just jerked out on impulse the second Yuuri’s slipped away from his chest though, catching Yuuri’s fingers before they could drop back to his side. He didn’t want to be apart from him for a second. He didn’t want to lose him now.

Victor felt better instantly. 

The weight lifted a little more off his shoulders as he watched Yuuri’s eyes start to clear, medicine dulling the pain and the warmth of his fingers closed around his own, squeezing tight. They could do this, Victor thought, hauling himself up a little straighter. They just had to keep their heads down a little longer. They could do this…

Yuuri reached up, ducking Victor’s cap a little lower over his face. 

Victor smiled, squeezing Yuuri’s fingers. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

  
  


Victor didn’t want to follow the docks too far. They further they went, the quicker the market stalls would shorten and the crowds would thin, making them all the easier to spot for the Russian soldiers that weren’t running out anywhere near as quickly as he would have liked. How many men had Yakov roped into this mission? Too many to count. Too many to avoid surely…

Victor’s breath was coming a little faster by the time he ran out of alleyways, coming out around the back of a market stall as they were forced back into the square. His plan was rapidly unravelling. They couldn’t just keep wandering. They had to think of something soon before they got caught-

“Oi!”

Victor flinched, arm shooting out in front of Yuuri - like it would be any kind of protection against a sword or a gun!

It wasn’t a Russian soldier shooing him away though or waving a gun in his face - just an angry Chinaman, red-faced and grimacing. And he wasn’t gentle. He grabbed fistfuls of Victor’s jacket, pulling and tugging as if to haul them away himself despite the fact that Victor towered over him, yelling all the while in rapid Chinese. Victor’s heart skipped a beat, panicking instantly. Attention was the last thing they needed right now.

“Sorry, sorry!” he said quickly, bearing his palms up peacefully. He needed peace. He needed quiet. If the noise attracted the Russians, drew the soldiers to investigate... “I’m sorry!”

He was near the fish, he realised with a glance behind Yuuri, a young man still unloading his nets into the ice buckets behind the stall counter. The man watched on with dull, uninterested eyes, expression blank and unreadable behind his flop of raven black hair as he shook his net free.

Something about him unnerved Victor, the way his eyes were both observant and dismissive at the same time...

“Oi, Seung-gil!” the old man snapped.

The young man jerked his gaze across to him in a heartbeat, eyes flashing with recognition. A speil of rapid-fire Chinese followed, Victor not following a word. He didn’t understand what was going on, what was happening. All he knew was that he had to get away from it …

He took the moment to look around, scanning the dock edge while the attention was off of him. There weren’t any soldiers coming that he could see, no advancing tracks being carved through the crowds and no flash of sharp uniform in their immediate vicinity. That could all change very quickly though, dropping his eyes back to the angry man holding him by the lapels of his jacket. Did he think Victor was trying to steal from him?

Victor just gripped Yuuri’s hand tighter, pulling him in close behind him. He didn’t want any trouble. He’d just wanted a moment to think out of the throng of the crowd once the alleyway had run out, out of the way of prying eyes while he stopped to weigh up his options.

Too close behind a market stall obviously wasn’t the best place to do that apparently…

Yuuri stumbled in closer behind Victor. The movement just drew the stall owners attention back to them though, more bitter foreign words and shoving quickly following. 

Victor let himself be moved, just keen to get out of the way as soon as possible. He needed calm. He needed quiet. “Alright,” he put his spare hand up again, palm up peacefully while the old man shoved him away. “I’m going, I’m going…”

He winced as a sharp jab dug into the small of his back but he didn’t say anything, gritting his teeth and turning away as soon as the old man all but threw him away, stronger than he looked. He still shooed him further away though, babbling in Chinese that Victor couldn’t understand while his fisherman friend lurked silently behind him, watching on. He didn’t want to get involved, Victor guessed. He couldn’t blame him.

But he didn’t like the way the young man’s dark eyes lingered on them as they went, following them as they melted back into the crowd.

He tried to ignore it, setting the unnerved sensation at the back of his head.

It didn’t help them now.

They still needed a boat. The big tankers were fewer there than they had been further up the river, but those that remained weren’t lingering for long, last calls being yells and gangways withdrawn. And when the Russian’s didn’t have those liners to watch, where would they go next?

Victor’s eyes shifted to the small army of fishing boats further down the docks, masts all swaying in the breeze, boats stacked so close together Victor wondered how any of them would get out of the maze they had built in the water.

Some men stood in their boats. Some were empty. All were guarded by the Russian soldier standing watch by the mooring posts though, his eyes lingering on every man that walked close.

He was looking.

Victor swallowed hard - those boats were their best shot. If they could sneak on one of them somehow, hide in the maze of masts-

He cried out before he could stop himself as someone barged past him from behind, knocking the bullet wound in the back of his arm sharply. His hand shot to his bicep, biting back the torrent of Russian cursing that flew to the tip of his tongue.  _ God, _ that hurt…

A flash of familiar black hair strolled past him, casting a dark look back over his shoulder as he went - the young man from the stall.

And he was walking towards the fishing boats.

Victor’s heart soared with hope - he might own one.

What was his name again? Victor scrambled for it desperately, trying to remember what the old man had said. It begun with an S, hadn’t it? Something like that.

The boy hadn’t lingered though - when Victor blinked up, that stark raven hair was already walking away from him, getting further and further away and closer and closer to the Russian soldier. 

Victor was running before he knew it, pulling Yuuri with him.

“Se-Se-um, Seun-”

“Seung-gil,” the man cut off with a huff, whipping around with narrowed eyes and a whip of his overgrown hair across his face. Whatever he said next, Victor didn’t catch. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the way he crossed his arms stiffly across his chest and glared at Victor wasn’t a good sign though. He reminded Victor of Yura…

It hadn’t been what Victor had been expecting. 

“Um,” he stumbled for words, blinking dumbly. He was making this all up as he went along… “Boat?” he asked, nodding towards the fishing boats, and pointing through the crowd for good measure. “You have a boat?”

Victor had no idea if Seung-gil spoke Russian or not. He didn’t look confused but he also didn’t look understanding, that suspicious glare not shifting. Victor couldn’t read it.

He didn’t like it.

Seung-gil glanced back over his shoulder, towards the boats - or towards the soldier?

Victor tapped his shoulder to get his attention back to him again before his head could even finish turning, not willing to take the risk either way. 

“Boat?” he tried again, making a fist with one hand and making waves mimicking the water with the other, running alongside his clenched fingers. He pointed firmly at Seung-gil before repeating the gesture. “You have a boat?”

Something sparked in the fisherman’s eyes this time, flashing with understanding that temporarily bit through his grudge. 

His gaze shifted between Victor and Yuuri, lingering uncomfortably on both of them before he answered. He didn’t say anything in words - but finally, he nodded, eyes hovering over Yuuri as he did.

Victor didn’t like it one bit.

He snapped his fingers sharply, drawing Seung-gil’s attention back to him once more. “Hey!” he barked, jaw tense. He didn’t like the way Seung-gil’s eyes narrowed, but he was just glad it was at him and not Yuuri. He could take it. “Paio?”

That had been the word from the train, right? Victor was grasping at straws now.

Seung-gil just shook his head though, muttering something that Victor couldn’t even catch let alone hope to try and translate.

He was running out of ideas. They needed on that boat. They needed out - and they needed it now. Every lingering second they spent in the crowd was a second that the Russian soldier could spot them, could recognise them, could undo all their hard work to escape…

Seung-gil was already starting to turn away though, eyes rolling and muttering something bitterly under his breath in a language Victor couldn’t hope to understand.

Surely, there was one thing everyone understood though?

“No, no, we can pay,” Victor said quickly as his panic got the better of him, hand darting out to snag the fisherman’s sleeve before he could get out of reach. Seung-gil’s wide, scandalised eyes swung round, mouth opening to no doubt yell for the soldier - until he saw the wad of cash Victor pulled out from inside his jacket pocket. Victor didn’t know how much it was. He didn’t care. It would all be worthless to them anyway if they were dead because they hadn’t been able to get on a boat. He pointed downstream, holding the fistful of cash out against Seung-gil’s chest. It was the best he had. “Understand? We will pay.” 

Victor had never met a man who didn’t have his price. For secrets, for silence, for deeds - there was always a price, even for the most honourable of men.

And he was pretty sure Seung-gil wasn’t exactly an honourable man.

Victor wasn’t one to judge though - some of the things he’d done to escape his farm life and join the army he wasn’t exactly proud of. Smuggling out some criminals would have been easy. A younger him would have happily helped them escape for a pretty price. Hell, he’d have done it for as little as the price of a train ticket! Maybe Seung-gil was the same.

Whatever it was, the young fisherman’s eyes glowed at the money in Victor's fist, lips drifting open. Victor could practically see his mind race behind his eyes, making his decision.

Victor wished he would hurry up…

“Well?” he pressed.

Seung-gil’s gaze flickered up, a fraction darker than before. Victor recognised greed easily enough when he saw it.

That didn’t bother him.

The way those greedy eyes kept shifting over to Yuuri though… that did. That bothered him a lot. 

He’d been looking at Yuuri ever since they’d caught up to him, either obviously, or out of the corner of his eye - but Victor had seen it, the fisherman’s gaze lingering just a little too long to be casual interest. He wasn’t interested in Victor - but something about Yuuri had his attention.

Did he recognise him? Victor hadn’t seen any Japanese soldiers crawling around the docks but it didn’t mean they weren’t there. Maybe they had spies. Victor had no idea if Yuuri would have been missed from his ranks, if he had a commander who would go to the same lengths as Victor’s Yakov to see him meet his punishment. 

Whatever it was, it didn’t fill Victor with hope. He didn’t like Seung-gil. He didn’t want to leave Yuuri with him, entrust him with their fate....

… but he had no choice.

If they didn’t go with Seung-gil, Victor might as well hand himself into the Russians sooner rather than later and get it over and done with.

His hand pushed a little firmer against the fisherman’s chest, still waiting for his answer. They couldn’t keep waiting much longer...

Finally, Seung-gil dragged his gaze back to Victor’s. “Okay,” he nodded in heavily accented English, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Victor’s fistful of cash, clinging to every last note as Victor’s hand fell away. 

He could take the money. Victor didn’t care about that.

He just cared about Yuuri.

Victor didn’t catch what Seung-gil said next as he shoved the money into his pocket and turned, nodding back towards the boats and waving them over. Yuuri stepped to follow without hesitating, faint smile on his lips.

It disappeared the moment that Victor caught his arm though, hanging back a minute as Seung-gil made a beeline for the dock edge.

“Victoru?” Yuuri frowned over his shoulder. “Nan desu ka?”

Victor’s breath caught, eyes shifting to watch the fisherman over Yuuri’s shoulder. He was watching them right back from over one of the many mooring lines tied to the dock, untying it slow and leisurely. Victor’s mouth pressed into a thin line just watching. He didn’t trust it.

He still slung the bag off his shoulder though, pressing it to Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri caught it easily, blinking between it and Victor in confusion.

Victor was already turning him though, turning him back to Seung-gil through the crowd. 

“ _ Go _ .”

Victor gave Yuuri a little push, hands firm but gentle at the back of his shoulder blades. Victor didn’t miss the ripple of tension that went through Yuuri’s jaw as he did though, the vibrations obviously rippling through to his still healing wound.

He didn’t have time to be sorry though; he had a plan to set in motion.

“Vict-”

“Just go.”

Seung-gil was clambering over a boat to get to his own, Victor watched from the crowd, slinging his nets in the back. There was still another boat on the other side of him though, between them and the open river. Seung-gil was bickering with him, hands gesturing to  _ get out of the way _ . It drew the attention of the guard at the dock for a brief moment, the Russian soldier glancing over his shoulder at the squabble. Victor had to do something about that...

But he needed Yuuri to be safe first, to be ready to go. 

Yuuri still hadn’t left him, still clutching the bag in a white-knuckled grip, eyes round and glistening up at Victor. He needed to go…

Victor dragged his gaze away from watching Seung-gil for a moment to snag Yuuri’s eye, forcing his lips to curve into a gentle - but very, very forced - smile. “Go,” he said, softer this time, bringing his hand up to cup Yuuri’s cheek carefully. He nodded once, encouraging. “Go, I’ll be there in a minute.”

He held up a finger, slipping his hand away from Yuuri’s cheek to do so. He needed the space - the longer he stayed touching Yuuri, the harder it always was to let go.

And this was something he needed to do.

He didn’t wait for an answer this time before he turned on his heel, striding back through the crowds the way they’d come and letting himself get lost in the throng again. It was fine - he wasn’t lost. But he needed to be out of sight. He needed to be sneaky.

The Russian guard wasn’t looking for Yuuri. One more Asian man clambering into the boats wouldn’t be something that would bother him, Chinese or not - he was looking out for Victor’s pale skin, for his long silver hair… even with his haircut and dye-job, Victor wasn’t confident of his chances of making it on that boat while the guard was still there. He’d be caught the moment he stepped towards the docks.

He had to lose the guard.

He let himself move with the flow of the market crowd, keeping a side eye on the fishing boats as best he could as he backtracked further along the docks, circling around. Yuuri was slowly clambering onto the boat, apologising to the other fishermen, wide eyes scanning back over his shoulder for Victor.

The guard hadn’t even batted an eyelid at him.

_ Good,  _ Victor thought, weaving on through the milling people to the other end of the line of fishing boats, a short stretch from where Seung-gil’s one was docked.

Whatever happened, Yuuri would make it out.

Victor was happy with that.

He joined the back of a long queue - queuing for what, he didn’t know or care - digging a hand casually in his pocket and turning his back to the docks and the soldier while he thought. He needed a plan. Something. Anything. From his position, he could still see Seung-gil’s boat further up the docks a short sprint away, still close enough to be able to make out the narrowed eyes of the Russian guard scanning the waves of people around him if he wanted. He was close but blended in, out of sight.

For now.

It wouldn’t last, he knew. 

Seung-gil was clearing a path for his boat to join the open river, setting his sails, righting his instruments, while Yuuri sat in the back, waiting.  _ Looking. _

Victor had to get there. 

He pulled his cap a little lower over his eyes as the Russian guard’s gaze swept over the queue from the docks, feeling those sharp, piercing eyes graze over his shoulder.  _ So close _ , he thought, holding a breath until he felt the shiver of being watched slowly pass. It reminded him just how little it would take to get caught, how just one look could bring the whole thing crashing down on him…

He chanced another look at the boats - and his breath hitched.

The bow of the boat was clear into the flow of the river, the back end still caught in the line of the other fishing boats - because Yuuri was holding them there, clearing arguing viciously with Seung-gil at the front. Victor figured it out in a heartbeat, his heart stopping in his chest. 

Seung-gil was  _ leaving _ .

Victor was out of time.

Moving on instinct, he turned. That was all. He turned, heart hammering in his throat as he stood rock still with his back to the market queue and his face… staring right at the Russian guard through the milling bodies, at the eyes scanning the crowd for his pale face. Victor felt it draw near, felt the shiver riddle through his spine.

And when their gazes linked, Victor felt the world stop. 

Everything went quiet. Everything narrowed to those cold eyes, frowning at first, then widening, realising,  _ understanding  _ ….

… then the whistle shattered the stillness and everything swung into chaos.

The soldier ran forward - whistle in his mouth still harking out shrilly - as Victor stepped back, feeling the panic prickling at the back of his mind, whatever plan he might have had washed away in an instant. Oh God - what had he done? Instinct took over. He stumbled back through the crowd, hands reaching back to throw anything forward between him and the guard. Food, baskets,  _ people -  _ Victor didn’t see, didn’t care.

Until one person he grabbed didn’t move so easily and the minute Victor turned, he felt the familiar contact of a punch to the jaw. It rattled his teeth, made stars pop behind his eyes, crying out as he tripped over someone behind him, the world spinning as he fell. 

Victor couldn’t see anything as he stopped moving, sprawled out on the market floor with an arm around his stomach, fighting the urge to be sick. 

Through the tangle of slowly moving legs, he saw a distinct pair of boots, running, shoving, fighting-

Victor was up in a heartbeat.

He wasn’t sure if the soldier could still see him or not as he found his feet again, an idea rapidly pulling itself together inside his head, adrenalin pulsing through every fibre of his being. The world was still spinning - a mash of bodies and faces, nothing more - Victor stumbling through, grasping at anything he touched.

This time when he threw though, it wasn’t at the guard. A basket smashed into a man’s head. A woman was dragged to the ground. Victor’s fist rammed into a face as he reached back, shattering a nose in a spurt of blood.

Murderous eyes flashed in front of him, watching a fist draw back behind the man clutching his broken nose.

Victor ducked on instinct, diving forward.

And heard the thud of the man’s fist hitting the gentleman who had been stood behind him, sending the gentleman sprawling back into the crowd - into the soldier. 

And then everything went wild.

Victor was running before he knew it, scrambling to get to his feet and push himself forward. He headbutted his way through the crowd, tripping and pulling, hauling people into the chaos behind him as he heard the yells and shouts, heard the thuds of punches and fighting in his wake. When he glanced back - legs already running forward - he didn’t see anything sane. Brawling and shouting, a woman screaming while men fell on top of her. 

The soldier was nowhere to be seen, lost in the brawl. Victor could hear him though, could hear the whistle still shrill.

And then a gun went off.

Someone screamed beside Victor - but he was bolting for all he was worth before the sound had finished echoing in his ears, a thin trail of smoke rising from the middle of the chaos that he’d started.

He hoped nobody had been hit, that the soldier had at least had the sense to fire up into the air. To try aiming for Victor through the crowd would have been impossible…

... but the idea of going back to Yakov to report that Victor had slipped through their fingers must be impossible too. 

Victor didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

He just ran with everyone else, picking out the green of the river and making a beeline for it. Running bodies slammed into him. Victor slammed back. Nobody was looking - so desperate to get away from the fight, from the gunfire. Victor was just one of the hundreds, a nameless, faceless man running for his life as far as anyone else was concerned. He elbowed his way forward frantically, sprinting towards the waters edge like the devil himself was at his heels.

He waited for the bang of the gun, for the lightning pain of a bullet blasting through his side. His eyes were wide with fear at the thought as he ran, knowing all it would take was one good shot, one second-

Yuuri’s head popped up over the rim of Seung-gil’s boat - ducked down from the gunshot - eyes wide and scanning through the madness on the docks.

They shot even wider when they saw Victor though. 

“Get down!” Victor all but screamed, waving an arm wildly at Yuuri. He had been planning to run quiet, to slip away smoothly… but if Yuuri got caught by a stray bullet then the whole thing meant nothing, was worthless no matter what happened to Victor. 

Yuuri ducked down… but his brown eyes hovered over the brim of the boat, following Victor’s every step.

Victor all but dived into the first fishing boat off the dock, throwing himself off the ledge towards the water. The boat rocked into the next with a sickening crunch, that one bashing against Seung-gil’s in a domino effect enough to shake off Yuuri’s grip holding them back, fingers torn away by the force of the blow. The boat drifted instantly, pushed further out to the river from the impact. Victor’s eyes linked with Yuuri’s for one heart-stopping moment, both sharing the same moment of panic.

Then he didn’t hesitate.

The boat rocked dangerously as Victor swung wildly over the edge into the next, feeling it strain against its mooring line as he crashed into it. Yuuri’s fingers reached out to him, grasping desperately at nothing, a hair's breadth away from Victor’s sleeve. 

“Victor!”

Victor didn’t dare let himself think.

He threw himself off the boat towards Yuuri, soaring through the air with strength he hadn’t known he’d had left, air frozen in his lungs, heart hammering in his chest, focused on Yuuri’s bright brown eyes, just waiting for the crack of a bullet to split the air and send him crashing into the green below.

But it never came.

The only thing that cracked was Victor’s ribs. 

He cried out as he slammed into the unforgiving wood of Seung-gil’s boat, legs splashing in the water and Yuuri’s hands grasping wildly at the back of his jacket, clinging to him desperately. 

Victor’s arms hooked over the rim of the boat, legs kicking to push him up, Yuuri’s hands hauling to pull him in… it wasn’t enough though. The weight of the water soaked his trousers, weighing him down, not enough strength left in him to fight it as the pull got stronger and stronger, the current lapping around his waist and drawing him in.

Until Seung-gil marched across the boat with a huff, tangling his hands in Victor’s clothes and  _ hauling. _

Victor fell over the edge of the boat with a gasp, hitting the bottom with a wet slap. A net threw over him the second his back slapped down, knocking the air right out of his lungs only to gasp back in the unbearable stench of fresh fish. Victor retched despite himself, jerking under the net, snapping up at the waist to throw it off him before he hurled-

Seung-gil shoved him down in a heartbeat though, merciless and rough. He didn’t even flinch as Victor cried out, cold eyes locked on the shoreline. 

Victor gagged under the net, but he didn’t have the energy to fight Seung-gil, surrendering to the hands that held him down and forcing himself to breathe through his mouth, making the stench ever so less potent. He was desperate to breathe anyway, gulping in lungfuls of fishy air. His lungs burned, legs ached from running so hard. His eyes stared sightlessly up above him, through the mesh of the net. He couldn’t quite believe what he’d just done, how close he’d come…

Yuuri was whispering above him, wide eyes on the docks. “Yatta…  _ yatta…” _

Victor’s hands were shaking as they pushed himself up a fraction, just enough to peek his eyes over the rim of the boat to follow Yuuri and Seung-gil’s gazes, the rest of him still hidden. 

When he looked back, soldiers were breaking up the brawl in the square, splitting the crowd and checking every man, every face, swarms of Soviet red littering the marketplace as they lined people up. There was no commotion at the dock edge though, no soldier yelling or pointing out to the river. The soldier hadn’t seen him run to the boat. No one knew he was there. 

He’d done it - they were out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Ai shite iru noda to omō - I think I love you
> 
> Piào - ticket
> 
> Dozo - here
> 
> Onegai… p-pozhaluysta..
> 
> Ikuzo - let’s go
> 
> Nan desu ka - what is it?
> 
> Yatta… - We did it


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been ages, please don't hate me.
> 
> On the plus side, I think I have FINALLY decided how this story might end...

The river was soothing. The sway of the current was smoother than the rock of the cart had been, Victor finding peace in the sound of the swelling water, flowing them gently downstream down the Yangtze. Moonlight shone down, dancing over the water in beautiful patterns that Victor could barely see over the rim of the boat. His eyes could barely stay open anyway, flittering awake every now and then to catch a glimpse of the still, quiet world around him before he dozed off again.

Yuuri lay in the crook of his arm, face turned into Victor’s chest and fingers lightly tangled in the front of Victor’s shirt. Victor didn’t mind. Seung-gil shot them a look every now and then but mostly, he just let them be.

Victor still didn’t like him.

He figured he was just a dislikable person. He wasn’t like Guang-Hong - always smiling, always trying - Seung-gil sailed, and fished, and didn’t make any effort to talk to them at all, always just watching out of the corner of his eye.

He was fishing now, Victor saw from where he was slumped against the back of the boat, catching the silhouette of the fisherman hunched at the boat's bow, his back to them.

At least he wasn’t staring at them again…

Victor took a deep breath, breathing in the fresh, clean air and letting it fill his lungs. He’d quickly gotten used to the smell of fish. Three days of lying in nets and Seung-gil fishing had quickly adjusted him, barely able to smell it anymore even though it surrounded him. He probably stank too now. His nose crinkled in distaste at the thought, rolling his head to rest his cheek on the top of Yuuri’s head.

Yuuri groaned quietly in his sleep, huddling closer against Victor’s chest. 

The vial of medicine pressed into Victor’s sternum from under Yuuri’s shirt. After Yuuri’s display of restraint in the alleyway, Victor had decided to hand it over, to let Yuuri decide when he needed medicine or not. He was being remarkably disciplined about it. Victor was more than impressed.

His lips curved into a soft smile as he stared down at Yuuri, his pale skin all but glowing in the moonlight. Yuuri’s plump lips were parted in his sleep, his closed eyes soft and relaxed, for once having nothing to worry about.

They had made it.

Victor hadn’t thought of much of a plan from there. Honestly, he was just basking in the calm. In the middle of the river in rural China, nobody could touch him - not even Yakov.

He’d figure something out when Seung-gil eventually pulled in to port. He’d find a train, a car, a boat - anything. He’d keep moving however they could until they felt safe again, until they were far out of Russia’s reach. Europe seemed like a good target to aim for. He’d always heard promising things about Europe. They could be safe there. Anywhere there. Or America, where there would be a good stretch of ocean between him and Yakov. The idea felt comforting.

The last thing Victor remembered thinking about before he let his heavy eyelids fall was the outline of the Eiffel Tower, the Brooklyn Bridge, and Big Ben, wondering under the shadow of which one they would make their new home.

 

* * *

Rustling woke Victor. Rustling was the best word for it - like the rats that used to crawl around the army barracks when Victor had mingled with the troops, nibbling, gnawing,  _ rustling - _ he could practically hear it again as he slowly roused, nose crinkling in disgust and leg twitching the way it used to to kick the vermin away. 

He wasn’t back in the barracks when his eyes finally peeled open though, blinking to adjust to the darkness. He was still in the boat.

Yuuri was still in his arms.

And the rustling…

Victor blinked sleepily over Yuuri, across the slow rise and fall of his chest at the shadow lurking at the otherside of the back of the boat. It took a few moments for everything to click into place. The shadow was shifting by Yuuri’s hip, the rustling noise quiet but careless, and when the shadow crept over Yuuri’s chest - in the shape of a human hand - Victor realised exactly what it was.

He snapped awake in a heartbeat.

His hand had been resting by his thigh, but in no more than a blink of an eye his fingers curled around the hilt of his blade - tucked into the waistband of his trousers - and wrenched it free. The blade glinted in the moonlight, Seung-gil freezing.

It was only then Victor  _ saw _ . 

By Yuuri’s hip, their backpack had been overturned. Yuuri’s pistol lay out in the open and their money was spread out, Seung-gil’s fingers paused over Yuuri’s chest where the bulge in his shirt was from the vial of medication. 

Victor’s lip curled, feeling rage surge inside him hot and dangerous. Was Seung-gil trying to  _ steal  _ from them?!

“Don’t touch it,” he growled in Russian, knowing full well that Seung-gil couldn’t understand him. Victor didn’t care, leaning the blade closer towards Seung-gil while careful not to disturb Yuuri. He didn’t want to wake him... “Don’t touch  _ him _ .”

Victor would kill him before he let Seung-gil hurt Yuuri - so much as  _ touch  _ Yuuri. His medication too. Yuuri may be on the outer end of his infection but he still needed something for the pain when it came, to keep him going until they found somewhere safe for them to settle down for a bit enough for Yuuri to gather his strength entirely without it.

Seung-gil’s hand slowly withdrew from Yuuri’s chest, their valuables clinking softly as he set them down beside Yuuri’s hip again.

Yuuri groaned quietly in his sleep, eyebrows pinching a fraction. 

Victor held his breath, freezing deathly still. He didn’t want Yuuri to wake. He didn’t want Yuuri to see this, to feel afraid. They’d finally gotten out, finally thought they were safe… he didn’t want to shatter the illusion for Yuuri.

One thing was clear though - they’d outstayed their welcome.

 

* * *

“Net!”

Yuuri woke with a jolt.

Blinding sunlight met him first, streaming down from above and sparkling dazzlingly off the surface of the water. It was like being surrounded by a river of stars. In any other moment - any other waking - it would have been beautiful…

But as it was, Yuuri blinked his dazzled vision clear just in time to catch Victor wrench an oar out of Seung-gil’s hands across the boat.

It wasn’t a normal morning.

He scrambled to his feet.

It hurt - everything hurt. His shoulders were stiff from leaning against the unforgiving wood of the boat, hissing as the pain jolted down his spine. He didn’t remember falling asleep there. He’d fallen asleep in warmth and comfort, with Victor’s arms around him holding him safe and his fingers playing delicate patterns with the hair at the nape of his neck...

_ Victor. _

Victor held the oar behind his back, shoulders rippling with tension and black hair swinging as he shouted something that Yuuri didn’t understand.

Seung-gil seemed to understand enough though.

The fisherman’s eyes narrowed, his mouth thinning in venomous distaste as his fists clenched.  _ “ _ _ Eotteohge gamhi _ _ -” _

He lunged forward.

And  _ missed _ .

Victor jerked the oar out of his reach in a heartbeat. He was too quick. His spare hand was already tangling in the front of the Seung-gil’s shirt before the fisherman could recover, shoving him back hard enough to make the boat rock. Water slapped against the boat edge, deck swaying dangerously.

Yuuri stumbled to keep his footing. His hands slapped against the mast to keep himself upright, fingernails digging into the worn wood while the sail flapped around him. It was only then he noticed – the sail was in tatters. It had been torn to shreds.

Had… had Victor done this too?

_ Why? _

Yuuri glanced back across the boat to Victor, stomach sinking in dread. Something was wrong. Something was badly wrong…

Yuuri didn’t think.

“Victor!”

He threw himself forward before he could stop himself, one hand tangling in the back of Victor’s shirt and the other hooking around Victor’s arm, holding his oar clenched fist back with all the strength he had left. It wasn’t much. He was no match for the Russian. Taller. Stronger. Healthier. Victor wrenched his arm free in an instant, tearing himself out of Yuuri’s grasp and whipping round in the space of a second.

Yuuri gasped, staggering back.

It wasn’t Victor looking back at him.

Eyes wide and wild glared back at him, bloodthirsty and savage.  _ Dangerous. _ It made the air catch in Yuuri’s throat as he stumbled back, fingers dropping Victor’s shirt like he burned. He didn’t like the look in Victor’s eye, the clenched teeth of his snarl, the way his arm jerked up on instinct as it let go of Seung-gil, ready to strike back-

Then something in those crystal eyes snapped, and Victor froze.

He  _ saw. _

He saw Yuuri cowering  _ \- from him. _

The oar dropped from his hands with a clatter.

Time seemed to stop. Yuuri couldn’t move as he slowly watched Victor’s eyes blink back to life, light flooding back into those bright crystal orbs. The ferocity softened. The anger melted away. Victor’s whole expression dropped into one of horror, fear flooding his eyes and teeth unclenching for his mouth to hover open dumbly, the apology he could never say in any way Yuuri could understand glittering in his wide, shocked eyes.

His fist unclenched, hand falling back to his side with a dull slap.

“Bozhe moy...” Victor gasped more to himself than anybody else, sounding breathless. “Yuuri, ya ne khotel...”

He looked terrified.

Yuuri’s heart was in his mouth, hardly daring to breathe - and for once, when Victor stepped forward and closed the gap between them, it didn’t make him feel any better. He gasped as Victor’s fingers threaded tenderly through his hair, as his forehead touched Yuuri’s. Victor’s gaze was inescapable, piercing, and soul searching, and …  _ scared _ .

Yuuri went stiff in his arms, closing his eyes against it. He didn’t want to see. He was frightened of what waited for him if he opened his eyes again.

Because it hadn’t been his Victor that had been there a moment ago.

It had been Captain Victor Nikiforov, Russia’s trained killer.

Yuuri had almost forgotten. Behind the ash dyed hair and the fake passports was still the soldier that every army feared, buried, but still there. Yuuri had hoped they’d left him behind, that the fearsome Captain had disappeared in their wonderings, had been claimed by the forest as they’d nearly starved to death in each others’ arms… 

He should have known better.

Victor Nikiforov wasn’t dead - just dormant. 

“ _ Yuuri… _ ”

That wasn’t his voice now though.

That was  _ Victor -  _ pleading, and vulnerable. It pulled on Yuuri’s heartstrings the way Victor’s voice cracked, rippled with emotion that Yuuri couldn’t name but could  _ feel _ .

He reached up, fingers closing tight around Victor’s wrist. He didn’t pull it away.

He sighed out, forcing himself to relax. He dropped his raised shoulders, he softened his closed eyelids, he let his fingers trail gently down Victor’s wrist, and his panic sigh out of him, washing delicately over Victor’s lips. He pushed up on his tiptoes, pecking a kiss to Victor’s lips. He didn’t care about if Seung-gil was watching - he just wanted his Victor.

The moment he settled back on the heels of his feet, Victor was winding his arms around him, drawing him in. Yuuri let him.

His face leaned into the space between Victor’s neck and shoulder, breathing him in. He smelled of sweat and fish - something that should have been comforting in its own funny way. Now though, it wasn’t comforting. It was a reminder.

They’d thought they were safe.

They were wrong.

“ Prosti, Yuuri,” V ictor breathed a humourless laugh, dropping his forehead to Yuuri’s shoulder. “ On khochet, chtoby my sostykovalis'. Slishkom rano ... my ne mozhem. Nam nuzhno idti dal'she po reke, no ... o Bozhe, ya prosto ne znayu. ”

Yuuri didn’t understand.

He could feel the tension tightening Victor’s posture again the more he talked, and Yuuri wished he understood what he was saying. He wished he could know the problem.

Because he didn’t want Victor to worry.

He’d seen him - the way he let Yuuri sleep in his arms while he stayed awake, planning on. His fidgeting woke Yuuri every now and then, tipping him off when the Russian wasn’t quite as at peace as he appeared to be. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed him too. When was the last time he had slept properly?  _ Really?  _

Something was wrong, and he had no way of telling Yuuri what it was. Yuuri  _ longed  _ desperately to know.

His eyes flickered open over Victor’s shoulder, fingers threading through the hair at the back of Victor’s head to hold him close. He could feel Victor’s heartbeat hammering against his chest between them, matching his own frantic rhythm.

He had no idea what had happened. 

And then Seung-gil moved.

Yuuri jerked on instinct, arms stiffening around Victor. He couldn’t help it. Seung-gil froze where he stood as he caught Yuuri’s eye, palms baring slowly. The gesture was peaceful - were it not for the hard tint to his eyes, cold and merciless still. 

Yuuri didn’t like it.

But he didn’t move as Seung-gil slowly reached down and closed his fingers around the fallen oar, dragging it back towards him so it grated along the wood of the deck. It made the hairs on the back of Yuuri’s neck stand on end in warning, skin prickling.

In his arms, Victor jerked.

Yuuri just clung to him tighter though as the Russian turned in his arms, sharp eyes jolting over his shoulder. Victor’s arm twitched, alarm flashing in his gaze.

“Victor!” Yuuri hissed, hand jerking to Victor’s reaching hand, his fingers jolting the unmistakable path to the knife at his waist. “No…”

They didn’t need the fight.

They needed peace. Quiet. They needed Seung-gil’s sailing skills and his knowledge of the river. It was their best chance. Killing their best chance at survival was never a good idea.

Seung-gil didn’t stop. He didn’t raise the oar or step fast - he stood still, pulling the oar slowly towards him like he was drawing a line across the boat. He held Yuuri’s eye the whole time, drawing his invisible barrier. Yuuri didn’t move. He didn’t even relax when the fisherman turned his back on him, dipping the oar in the water and kneeling by the boat edge.

He didn’t relax - but he did have other priorities.

Yuuri glanced back to Victor.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, running his eyes over Victor leisurely. He wanted to check every inch of him. No cuts, no bruises - no nothing. Physically, Victor was fine.

The look in his eyes though...

Victor pressed them shut, head lolling forward. He ran his fingers through his darkened locks - they were shaking. “ Mne nuzhno derzhat' tebya v bezopasnosti...”

Yuuri didn’t know what he was saying. 

But he knew Victor looked scared - through the hardened edge slowly setting in his gaze, resolve that he didn’t need in Yuuri’s eyes - the flicker of fear was unmistakable. It made something inside Yuuri quake too.

He didn’t let it show though as he guided Victor down, noting the way the Russian slumped against the boat edge like a wilting flower. His shoulders hunched, leg drawing up - it made him look so much smaller than he had been a moment ago. He glared at his kneecap, fingers clenching and unclenching into a fist. A nerve jumped in his jaw.

“Mne ne nravitsya, kak on smotrit na tebya,” he muttered bitterly, gaze darkening. “Pochemu ty…”

Yuuri just frowned. 

Victor glanced up in time to catch it.

The air punched out of him in frustration, eyes rolling. Yuuri tried to ignore the stab of hurt it bolted through him - he knew Victor wasn’t frustrated at him. Just the situation. The communication. It would be so much easier if they could just talk…

“Yemu,” he just said, head jerking at Seung-gil across the boat. His face scrunched in a grimace, head shaking. 

Then his gaze trailed back to Yuuri, face tipping forward.

Yuuri got it.

Seung-gil didn’t like him.

He’d noticed. He didn’t understand it, but he’d noticed. When they’d first got on the boat, he’d thought their biggest problem would be with Seung-gil and Victor. The Chinese hadn’t exactly been peaceful with the Russians over Manchuria, over the Boxer Rebellion. Rumor had it that Russians were still being killed in the north, lingering rebels taking the law into their own hands. Yuuri would have understood Seung-gil hating Victor.

But  _ him. _

It didn't make sense.

He knew there was conflict between China and Japan. There had always been tensions between them after the war for Korea, but China had ultimately been the ones to surrender the land. If anyone was to hold animosity about the war more than anyone, it would have been the Koreans-

Yuuri gasped, pieces of the puzzle clicking together. Now, he understood.

He glanced across the boat.

Now he knew, he wondered how he hadn't seen it before. Seung-gil’s skin was just a fraction paler than others, his jaw slightly squarer and stronger than the people they had encountered, cheekbones high and face more angular… he wasn't Chinese, Yuuri realised with a sickening sense of dread. He was Korean.

And he hated Yuuri for what he had done to his country.

Yuuri's spine crawled.

They had to get off the boat.

And then he realised something even more dangerous.  “Victor… Yuuri…” Yuuri’s eyes widened, drifting back to Victor. He watched Victor’s face pale as he caught on too. “He knows our real names.”

 

* * *

When the boat pulled into dock, Yuuri lay still in Victor’s arms, eyes fluttered shut. His chest moved slow and steady, rising and falling with deep, sleepy breaths. Beneath him, Victor was the same. Neither one of them moved as the boat secured to the mooring, rocking slightly harder as the current lapped at the side, urging it to sail on.

It still wasn’t enough to stir Victor and Yuuri though, still and quiet.

Seung-gil cast one last look at the couple, drawing a deep breath. His expression was guarded, eyes hardened…

Still, Victor and Yuuri didn't move.

They didn't stir an inch as footsteps leapt elegantly off the boat, barely making a sound as they landed on the concrete mooring post on the shore. Their ears strained to listen, feeling the boat sway as the weight left it. One step, padding softly against the rock. Another… and another… and then, they were all but gone. All was quiet again, just the rock of the waves and the trickle of water, the gentle creak of the boat against its bonds…

Yuuri counted to ten in his head, laying still and steady against Victor’s chest. He wasn’t taking any chances. They couldn’t mess this up.

Finally, his eyes peeled open a slither.

Seung-gil was nowhere in sight.

Victor’s chest tensed beneath Yuuri’s head, shifting him as the Russian leaned up ever so slightly from the boat. His hand closed around Yuuri’s upper arm, fingers firm and insistent.

_ “Idti!” _

Yuuri was scrambling to his feet in a heartbeat.

They didn’t waste time.

Victor leapt out of the boat first, Yuuri only a second behind him as he paused to grab the backpack. He slung it over his shoulder, turning his back on the river.

He froze as soon as he looked up though, gaze drifting behind Victor. 

His heart sank bitterly. 

A hill rose above them from the shore, the mossy grey of an ancient wall at the top, blocking the blinding sun of the horizon. Arched gateways chunked out of the stone, great stone steps cutting paths through the hillside to greet to them. A few houses dotted along the tree speckled hill. More concrete blocks - like the one they’d moored to - ran up and down the coastline, strong and sturdy, ready for much larger and heavier vessels - the town was a port, Yuuri pieced together. 

That was bad-

“Yuuri!”

Victor’s voice wrenched him back to the present though - back to Victor - with his ashen black locks, piercing blue gaze, and outstretched hand…

Yuuri took it.

The boat rocked as Yuuri pushed himself out, swaying hard in the water. He held onto Victor tight. Victor’s fingers were stronger though as they clung to him tight, pulling him onto the solid concrete block with him.

Yuuri was running the second his feet landed, knees buckling at the suddenly sturdy surface beneath his feet. It threw him off balance, his next steps nearly pitching him right back into the water they’d fled from just seconds ago. Solid ground felt weird after so long on the water.  He didn’t dare stop though. They couldn’t.

“Go, go!” he hissed, grabbing a fistful of Victor’s sleeve and pulling. They didn’t have time for clumsiness or uncertainty.

Seung-gil had pulled into the city for a reason.

Yuuri wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but the way he had looked at them earlier, now armed with their real names -  _ Victor’s  _ real name - pieced with their desperation to escape with him that day…

It made a sickening feeling churn in Yuuri’s gut, instincts screaming at him. They weren’t safe. They had to move.

They ran across the hill as fast as they could, air sharp in Yuuri’s lungs as he gasped for breath with every step. He was out of shape. He wasn’t used to running anymore. He felt his strength start to wane before they’d even reached the stone steps, weaving between the little hut houses along the shore.

When they did get to the steps - about halfway up the hill - Yuuri ran right over them. He didn't trust them. They were too big, too obvious, too exposed. They couldn’t take any chances.

He ducked behind the first house he saw on the other side, running along the back to the far side until the building was squarely between them and the steps, hiding them from sight.

From that one side at least.

The house wasn’t much - just simple plank walls and a ragged tile roof, worn with age. They looked like a stiff breeze could knock them over. A bullet certainly would...

It was the best they had.

Yuuri crouched low and peered round the edge of the house back down the hill. The boat was just about still in view; a flicker of grey amongst the blue of the river and the brown bark of the trees. It would do. His hand reached for his belt, resting over the bulge of his revolver. He waited.

“Yuuri-”

“Shh!” Yuuri waved Victor quiet behind him, ears pricking. 

The wind whistled slightly. Trees groaned quietly around them. Yuuri’s own recovering breaths felt ridiculously loud, smothering a hand over his mouth to muffle them. That couldn’t be the thing that gave them away, it couldn’t-

_ Footsteps. _

Yuuri held his breath entirely, back pressing harder against the building as if he could disappear into the wood. 

If Yuuri was wrong, they could just go back to the boat, say they went to stretch their legs and go on sailing like nothing had ever happened. But if he was right...

Seung-gil’s footsteps were fast as they slipped down the stone steps on the other side of the house, but quiet - like he was trying not to be heard. Like he was trying to be sneaky. Yuuri could tell.

He crept into view half a beat later, his ragged clothes unmistakable. 

Yuuri frowned, heart hammering in his chest.

_ Why would he need to- _

His unasked question was answered almost instantly.

A white man followed Seung-gil, stride just as soft in his sturdy boots, steps slow and creeping. Yuuri was willing to bet his life that he was Russian. The man’s hand raised behind him, fingers nudging at the air, motioning forward. Three more men crept into view, fanned out from the steps, rifles in hand.

All aimed at the boat.

_ That bastard _ , Yuuri thought as he watched the men disappear under the tree branches as the steps ended at the bottom of the hill, disappearing from sight. 

The sailboat still rocked innocently in the current. They wouldn’t be able to see it was empty yet… but it wouldn’t take long. Just a matter of strides, their gazes peering over the edge of the boat, rifles at the ready…

“ _ Georgi _ ...” Victor breathed from behind him, hand settling on Yuuri’s shoulder.

It filled Yuuri with a sense of dread he couldn’t explain.

He shut his eyes, turning away from the boat and pressing his back flat against the wall of the house. His breaths quickened, heart boxing against his rib cage.

He had to think.

Russians were there. How many? Yuuri didn’t know - but he did know they were armed, and if they were armed and with Seung-gil, then they knew about Victor. If they were looking out for Victor, they would almost certainly have the gates covered, the only city entry points from what Yuuri could see. They’d be trapped. There’d be no way out, just endless running along the coast with no way of knowing when it would run out, or meet the wall, or they’d be caught, or-

_ Bang! _

Gunshots fired. Wood splintered-

Yuuri’s eyes snapped open.

_ Run- _

He grabbed Victor’s hand and bolted.

_ Uphill  _ \- no, that would burn their energy too fast.  _ Downhill _ \- that would herd them right into a dead end eventually.  _ Straight ahead  _ \- it was a terrible plan, running into the unknown, hoping for the best.

Yuuri ran anyway, no idea where his legs would take them. As Georgi shouted behind them, he decided that  _ anywhere _ was better than the boat.

They had to move.

They weaved around the houses, Yuuri running on instinct. He kept the bootfalls behind them, path jerking every time he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t want to be seen. They couldn’t be seen. A scream would tell the soldiers exactly where they were. They had to keep quiet. They had to keep out of sight.

Yuuri glanced over his shoulder, shocked at how much further away from the river they were. The stone walls loomed tall to their left, closer than he remembered. They were heading to the city. There was nothing that waited for them down by the river anyway. No boats - not that they could get to one without being seen anyway, the path down to the water too open and exposed as the trees whittled out. 

They’d be seen at best.

Shot at worst.

Yuuri ran on, trees and houses getting thicker the closer they were to the wall. He could barely hear himself think anymore, the sound of his own rasping breaths and clumsy footsteps consuming him. Twigs snapped under his shoes, frosty leaves crunching… then he slipped. His shoulder slammed into a tree, biting his lip so hard it bled to hold back from crying out. The metallic tang of blood burst on his tongue, pain flaring down his arm. His knees buckled beneath him, hands clawing at the bark to hold himself upright as black spots dotted his vision.

_ Oh God,  _ he thought, breath hitching hard in his lungs.  _ Not here, not now… _ they couldn’t afford to have the pain catch up with him now, slow him down.

“Yuuri…”

_ Yes,  _ Yuuri knew, catching the urgent undertones to Victor’s voice and wincing - they were because of him, after all. Warning him against slowing down…

“Yuuri,  _ posmotri _ !”

Victor’s grabbed his arm, fingers tight through his sleeve. He shook hard, Yuuri’s teeth rattling in his skull from the jolt. But when he looked up - and saw where Victor’s other hand was pointing - he understood. 

The wall. 

Or more specifically, the tree next to it. With branches thick and sturdy that leant against the stone, wooden tendrils creeping up and along… and  _ over.  _ Yuuri’s breath hitched as he followed them, watching the branches reach over the wall, shrouded by the last lingering leaves of the taller over hanging branches. It was almost too good to be true, a Godsend…

His fingers tangled in Victor’s clothes, shoving him forward. They had no time for gentleness anymore.

“ _ Go _ !”

They didn’t have time to waste.

Yuuri glanced back over his shoulder as Victor pulled himself up the tree trunk with steady steps and sure pulls. His back tensed, muscles bunching as they worked to hoist him up. 

For once, Yuuri was entirely undistracted by Victor, gaze locked on the treeline behind them. A house helped block them from view down the hill, trees granting cover, but all it took was one conveniently placed shoulder, eyes looking in the right direction at the right time…

Yuuri tore his gaze away and clambered forward onto the tree, clumsily finding his footing. He was nowhere near as good as Victor. His fingers clung on for dear life at all the knobs in the wood he could find - all painfully small in a way Victor had made look effortless! - leaning his weight forward to smother himself against the tree as much as he dared. The higher he climbed, the more terrified he felt. His shoulder burned. Sweat dripped into his eyes. He knew it shouldn’t be hard, that the wall wasn’t high - but he was weak and even a short fall could make a lot of noise and do a lot of damage. Enough damage to hurt. Enough that they couldn’t escape.

He forced himself on after Victor regardless though, forced to freeze in the middle of the tree trunk while Victor crawled his way forward over the thinner branches that reached towards the wall.

Too late, Yuuri wondered just how much weight the wood would take. As much weight as they’d lost, they still weren’t feathers, and who knew how old the tree was. Yuuri had never climbed trees. He didn’t know anything about how strong they were. Maybe the branch wasn’t thick enough, maybe the wood was too cold and brittle to hold, maybe-

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri blinked up, glancing through the frail, withered leaves along the branches. It took him right to the wall - right  _ over  _ it.

Bright blue eyes stared back at him.

“ Poyekhali!” Victor hissed, knuckles white as they held him upright on the branches on the other side of the wall, high enough to hold Yuuri’s eye - just.

Yuuri didn’t want to be left behind.

He pushed up with renewed strength, fingers clinging on when his foot slipped, fighting tooth and nail to clamber himself onto the branches. He swung a leg over when he got up, breathing a momentary sigh of relief as his shoulder finally was able to relax. Pain still ached dully down his arm, making his fingers tingle. 

It couldn’t stop him now though.

He crawled forward, feeling his weight loom dangerously. It didn’t feel safe. No matter how squarely in the middle of the branch he knew he was, somehow he still felt like any moment he might tumble off the edge. It felt unsteady. It felt wrong. He moved slow, but it still didn’t help. His heart was in his mouth, world swaying beneath the branch-

“ _ Yuuri _ !”

Yuuri glanced up with a gasp.

It was only then he realised that his eyes were wet, vision blurring traitorously with every blink. Why was he crying? After bullets, and starvation, and running for their lives… and a bit of  _ heights _ had him terrified all over again. It was so stupid...

Victor didn’t look at him like he was stupid though, gaze soft yet hard with determination at the same time.

Victor’s arm reached out. 

“Smotri na menya,” he whispered in words Yuuri didn’t understand, his eyes glowing. A small smile twitched over his lips. “Ty mozhesh' eto sdelat'.”

Yuuri didn’t know what it meant… but the look in Victor’s eye was crystal clear. Electric blue sparked in his irises, fierce with concentration, with loyalty - with  _ love,  _ Yuuri wanted to say, even though it was stupid. More than stupid. It wasn’t the time for such nonsense…

But he clung to it anyways, holding Victor’s eye as his hands crawled out across the gnarled branches, fingers reaching out across the wood for Victor’s. 

He forced himself forward, blinking fast. 

Victor’s hand got closer.

Victor’s eyes got closer.

Victor leaned forward. 

Yuuri was close enough see his lips part around a gasp, watch his eyebrows disappear into his bangs as his eyes widened, see the muscles strain in his arm as it reached out of him. He could see the world behind him over Victor’s shoulder, over the wall. Houses. Streets. There was city behind it.

Already, Yuuri’s mind was whirring. 

Would it be defended? How many guards would be there? Was it just the water line they guarded or the gates too? Deeper still? 

He needed to know.

The Russian’s had followed them this far, anticipating their next moves. They could so easily be caught, so easily be the end of their running…

Yuuri crawled faster, feeling a chill breeze lift the hairs on the back of his neck. A warning. They were coming. Behind. He had no idea how far away they were without turning, no idea if they could see him - not without turning round for himself, and that would send him hurtling down, plummeting to his doom. His knees hurt, biting back his groan of pain as the wood ground against his kneecaps. He had to move -  _ fast! _

His hand reached out when he saw the white’s of Victor’s eyes, the flicker of fear that broke through his calm exterior-

Victor lunged for him.

The air cracked behind a milimeter away from Yuuri’s ear just as Victor’s hands fisted in his shirt and pulled, tugging him face first over the wall. Yuuri saw the stone lurch up to greet him, gravity pulling him down. His heart stopped, gasp never fully passing his lips-

He never hit the ground.

Instead, he slammed into Victor.

The air knocked out of his lungs as it punched right out of Victor’s below him, the Russian’s back thudding hard against the cities cobbled pavement below. His bright blue eyes popped wide and sightless, lips parting around a silent gasp. Yuuri felt his ribs crack hard in protest, pain rippling around his chest. Breathing hurt. Moving hurt. Yuuri didn’t want to do either. 

He had no choice.

He cried out as he pushed off Victor, body aching in protest. Yuuri bit into the side of his cheek to keep himself quiet, eyes watering. 

They had to move.

“V-Victor…”

Speaking hurt too. Wrapping an arm around his middle, Yuuri crawled forward, spare hand clutching Victor’s shoulder. His fingers dug in tight. 

Victor leaned into the touch, still gasping for air from his freshly crushed lungs. Nothing else seemed wrong with him though, Yuuri’s eyes scouring over him. No blood. No twisted limbs. Nothing… they had no time to rest even there was something wrong. The soldiers had seen them. They had to go.

Yuuri clambered to his feet, leaving Victor to brace his hand against the stone wall. His knees buckled. His shoulder burned. He felt his fingers tremble against the stone.

It didn’t matter.

His knees locked in place as he unwrapped his arm from his ribs and tangled it in the material of Victor’s sleeve, pulling hard. Victor’s legs kicked, pushing into Yuuri’s efforts. His face scrunched up with pain when he rolled onto his front, head dropping forward to rest his forehead against the cobbles. He’d just fallen ten feet. Of course, he needed time… but they didn’t have time.

“Come on…” Yuuri urged, hearing the heavy bootfalls of soldiers. Over the wall? From the gates? He couldn’t tell, but it was close.

Too close.

Victor cried out through clenched teeth as he finally pushed himself to his feet with Yuuri, eyes swinging wildly but not seeing anything. Yuuri saw the pain there, screaming out from the sweat on Victor’s brow, the slight hunch to his back… when he reached out and grabbed Yuuri’s hand, he gripped too tight. Yuuri didn’t say anything.

They had to move. To where - Yuuri wasn’t sure. Glancing around, all he saw was houses. Rows and rows of houses, terraced in neat lines with narrow streets. They were nice, small but sturdy and well built. It left a lot to move around in - but little to hide. 

Yuuri tried not to think about it, letting Victor pull him along. They couldn’t stay in the streets - they’d be hunted and flushed out like rats. There couldn’t be many soldiers, Yuuri reasoned; there would have been more on the streets if there had been more, ones that would have pounced on them the moment they’d been shot at. Maybe the men with Georgi were the only men the Russians had. They couldn’t exactly send half an army into central China, all for the hunt of one man…

The next house they passed, Yuuri turned the door handle. It rattled - but didn’t move. He let Victor pull him on.

If there were just a few soldiers, maybe they could outlast them. The men thought they were running, thought they were chasing them deeper into the city. What if the simply ran on chasing the idea of their prey while Victor and Yuuri sat back and let them, letting them run ahead chasing their fantasy while they kept their heads down quietly out of sight?

As soon as the idea hit him, Yuuri was checking his belt for his gun. They might need it. He could see the indent of Victor’s knife on him too - that would be better. Quieter.

He hoped he wouldn’t have to use them.

He tried more door handles.

Lock after lock rattled back at him, hopes starting to dwindle the further along they went. The streets were too neat, too in line. All it would take was one soldier in the right row - no matter how many blocks away - and they’d be seen. It was too risky. They had to-

A door cracked open.

Yuuri gasped quietly, fingers squeezing around Victor’s. It held him back in his steps, the Russian pressing his back against the wall of the house while his gaze met Yuuri’s. Yuuri’s hand was still on the door handle, holding it ever so slightly ajar.

He had no idea what was inside. Somebody, nobody… he couldn’t hear any voices, couldn’t see any movement through the small windows, but he knew that was only a small comfort. His hand left Victor’s, moving to his belt. To his gun. 

He would if he had to, he thought. 

Victor’s eyes flashed. 

_ “ _ _ Podozhdi,”  _ he hissed.  _ “Yu-” _

Yuuri slipped through the door anyway. 

His gun pulled free from his belt as he stepped inside, not looking back to check if Victor had followed. He just thumbed the hammer back on the pistol, listening for the quiet, satisfying click. The click of the door fitting back into place behind him beat him to it though.

_ Victor. _

Yuuri didn’t turn around.

His eyes were locked ahead, scanning around the room. There wasn’t much to it. A small sitting room, wooden table in the middle with an open doorway leading to the left and stairs to the right leading to the second floor. Yuuri’s eyes went straight to the stairs, eyeing them warily. He crept close, gun raised and footsteps silent. 

There didn’t look like there were too many places to hide, Yuuri noted with a sinking heart as he crossed the sitting room, wood creaking quietly under his foot as he stepped on the first stair. 

A gasp.

Something smashed.

Yuuri’s head whipped round, glancing across the sitting room to the kitchen doorway. Shards of clay shattered over the floor, right under the open hands of a Western woman with short black hair - and just a moment away from screaming.

Yuuri saw red.

“Bella? What-”

Yuuri swung the pistol up the stairs toward the voice in the space of a heartbeat, feeling sick to his stomach at the white man frozen at the top of the stairwell. He saw the whites of the man’s dark blue eyes flash, the surprise bleeding into shock, then flashing into borderline panic. His hands shook as they raised slowly, palms bared. 

Yuuri sucked in a shuddering breath, straightening his pistol arm so sharply that his elbow clicked. He hoped he didn’t have to fire. He didn’t want to have to shoot.

His spare finger slapped clumsily over his lips, eyes watering. “ _ Shh _ !”

The man’s eyes flashed.

“J-JJ?” the woman stuttered from the kitchen, looking terrified. Her hands shook, eyes flickering between Victor and her husband.

Slowly, the man - JJ, Yuuri guessed - moved one of his hands, palm bared calmly to his wife. Yuuri let him. He didn’t want to have to kill these people. He didn’t want to have to kill anybody...

“ _ Please _ ,” he just whispered, not knowing what else to say, knowing the man couldn’t understand him. 

There were no words he could say.

How could he possibly explain why they had to be quiet? Who they were? All he had was his pistol and only lent itself to one kind of conversation…

Then, through the walls, Yuuri heard shouting.

He stepped back on instinct, back flattening against the wall, just a foot away from the window. If a soldier dared look in, crane his neck to the side, he’d be able to see Yuuri. On the other side of the window, Victor did the same, hand closing around the handle of the front door to hold it shut. As if that would do them any good if soldiers decided to break it down when they found them.

_ If  _ they found them.

Yuuri’s gaze caught the gentleman’s again, eyes glittering. All it would take was one scream from his wife to alert the soldiers, give them away…

“ _ Please _ ,” he said again, voice barely more than a whisper. “ _ Please…” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Net - No  
> Eotteohge gamhi - how dare you  
> Bozhe moy - oh my God  
> ya ne khotel - I didn’t mean  
> Prosti - I’m sorry  
> On khochet, chtoby my sostykovalis'. Slishkom rano ... my ne mozhem. Nam nuzhno idti dal'she po reke, no ... o Bozhe, ya prosto ne znayu.- He wants us to dock. It’s too early… we can’t. We need to go further down the river, but… oh God, I just don’t know.  
> Mne nuzhno derzhat' tebya v bezopasnosti - I need to keep you safe  
> Mne ne nravitsya, kak on smotrit na tebya - I don’t like the way he looks at you  
> Pochemu ty - why you  
> Yemu - him  
> Idti - go  
> Posmotri - Look  
> Poyekhali - go  
> Smotri na menya - look at me  
> Ty mozhesh' eto sdelat'- you can do it  
> Podozhdi - wait


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super thanks to my new beta  
> [@the-archangel-in-asgard](http://the-archangel-in-asgard.tumblr.com/)!!!

The door thudded shut - and Victor jumped. 

“They’re gone.”

JJ grinned as he closed the front door behind him, slipping his coat off his shoulders and swinging it onto the hook on the wall. His eyes were bright and carefree as he crossed the living room and braced his hands on the table, leaning forward. 

“I made a trail into the forest and it looks like they bought it,” he said, voice calm and sure. “Popovich is just the last one left - just clearing out the station by the look of it. I’ll bet he’ll be gone by morning too. I’ve tipped a few locals to say they saw you head west, just to be sure. “They are good folk here,” he nodded, eye sure. “They’ll hold true.”

Somehow, Victor wasn’t comforted.

It was the sparkle in JJ’s eye. He recognised it - excitement. He’d seen it time and time again back in the army, in the eyes of his younger comrades. The thrill of the chase, of the first march, the first battle…

Excitement made Victor nervous. It made people careless. It got people killed.

Victor bit his tongue though, tipping his head. He wouldn’t hold his breath - but it was better than fleeing through alien forests again, lost to the wilderness with the enemy on their heels.

“Thank you,” he said slowly, still getting used to wrapping his tongue around the foreign syllables. He hadn’t spoken English in a long time. “We are grateful.”

It wasn’t a lie.

He was grateful. By all rights, they shouldn’t be there. They should be captured or already swinging from the nearest tree. They’d had a gun on the husband, had threatened his wife… by all logic, they should have screamed. The soldiers should have come. Victor should have been making his peace with God…

As it was - as fortune would have it - he knew English.

 

* * *

_ Victor was wracking his brain with his back against the wall, straining to remember words long last spoken. He’d recognised it - what the man had said, JJ - he’d recognised that one word.  _ What _. English. They spoke English. Victor thought desperately, trying to remember the dregs of the language that he’d learned long ago upon his admission to the military.  _

_ They were balanced on a knife edge. Yuuri still had the man at gunpoint, while all that kept the woman from screaming was her husband’s steady hand and… what? The sheer fact that nobody had been hurt yet. _

_ Victor could feel it in the air, the tension so thick it was choking. All it would take was a single spark to ignite it. _

_ Then the world would explode. _

_ He had to do something. _

_ “English?” he gasped, flickering his gaze over to the husband. He wasn’t Russian. He had tanned skin, raven dark hair that could have been oriental if Victor didn’t know better. He’d only heard the man speak for a moment but there had been nothing Eastern in his voice. He was from the West. Europe, or American, maybe.  _

_ His eyes flashed with recognition, expression calm. “Yes,” he said slowly. He had an accent. Not British - American.  _

_ It set Victor’s mind at ease. America had helped Russia get Manchuria in the first place after all. They were allies. A smile flickered over Victor’s lips, breathless with relief. Finally - some luck at last! _

_ Victor lifted his palms up peacefully.  _

_ “We are not here to hurt you,” he said, slowly and calmly, thinking through every word. It had been a long time since he’d had to use his English and never in such a pleading context. _

_ He glanced between the man and his wife, relief sinking into his bones when he saw understanding in their gazes - they understood his words. They understood him. It was a strange relief to finally be able to speak and actually be understood, not just merely heard. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it since leaving Yura.  _

_ “They cannot find us,” he went on, hand motioning to the door. “If they find us, they will kill us...” _

 

* * *

Victor’s hands clenched tight around his mug of tea, breathing in the rich smell and feeling the heat radiate against his palms. It helped give him something to focus on.

Yuuri’s fingers brushed over his own, drawing his attention.

“Daijoubu?” he blinked, bright brown gaze flickering between Victor and JJ. He frowned. Of course, Victor thought with a sigh. He didn’t understand.

He  _ still  _ didn’t understand.

Victor nodded wearily, feeling the exhaustion finally start to catch up with him now that they had stopped running. “It’s fine, Yuuri,” he said, flickering a smile over his mouth that felt stiff as wax. “Everything’s fine.”

It didn’t feel fine. 

They were still trapped. They couldn’t go back, but they couldn’t yet go forward either, stuck waiting for god only know how long for the forests to clear and the manhunt to end. They couldn’t risk travelling now and walking right into Georgi’s hands. They had to wait. For how long, Victor wasn’t sure. 

He hadn’t planned their next move yet. Divert the soldiers, lead them off their trail… they should be going in the opposite direction already if they had any sense, while the army was distracted. Or would Georgi anticipate that? Would he - having known Victor, met him, worked with him, drank with him -  _ understand  _ him? Victor’s hand curled into a fist under Yuuri’s, knuckles white. He didn’t know what to do- 

“Will you be joining us for dinner?”

Victor glanced up at the question, eyebrows raised in surprise. The wife was looking at him from the kitchen doorway, expression expectant. 

Her red lips flickered in a smile as Victor met her gaze, though it didn’t quite meet her eyes  - they were too busy flickering over to the pistol, subtle, but there. It didn’t matter. It was only natural for her to be wary of it after staring down its barrel not long ago.

But she was offering all the same.

Victor’s mouth dropped open - but he caught himself before he said anything. He thought carefully.  

He should say no, he reasoned. He didn’t know these people, they didn’t know him. It could be another Seung-gil, another trick while they mulled soldiers around the house to ambush them-

When Victor still didn’t say anything though, the wife turned to her husband.

Slowly, JJ’s mouth stretched in a wide grin. “Yes,” he said surely. “They are.”

 

* * *

Yuuri’s bowl had barely touched the table before he was digging in, attacking it with his bare hands. Victor could hardly blame him; food hadn’t exactly been abundant on Seung-gil’s boat.

His own stomach  _ hurt _ it was so empty, but he didn’t move as his own plate was set down before him. He wanted to wait. He wanted to watch. A small smile twitched at his lips as he watched Yuuri eat, barely chewing before he gulped down mouthfuls of fluffy white rice and vegetables that Victor didn’t even know the name of, eyes only for the food. It was like the rest of the room didn’t exist - nothing mattered beyond that one blessed bowl of rice. 

“Bless us, oh Lord,” JJ said from the head of the table, jerking Victor from his thoughts. He didn’t miss the smirk on his lips as the young man took his wife’s hand, offering the other out to Victor.

Victor eyed it warily. 

JJ’s fingers were blistered, hands sore but unweathered. He’d been working hard with his hands recently, Victor worked out as he slowly reached out to meet JJ’s grasp, but he wasn’t used to it. It mattered. Everything mattered now, every detail. Victor couldn’t afford to leave anything to chance anymore.

He glanced over to Yuuri.

Bright brown eyes flickered up from the food, rice sticking to the corners of his still chewing mouth as he glanced around the table. Any other time, Victor would have been enamoured - Yuuri was just too adorable.

Yuuri’s brow dipped in confusion as he caught the other eyes watching him from around the table, swallowing his bite slowly. He stared at the wife’s hand to his right, offered out to him.

_ Clearly they didn’t say grace in Japan _ , Victor thought with a smirk of his own as he settled his hand to rest on Yuuri’s shoulder. He wouldn’t stop him eating the first good meal they’d had in weeks - maybe even months now. Victor was finding it hard to keep track of time.

He closed his eyes, and tried to clear his mind.

“And these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty through Christ, our Lord,” JJ went on. “For what we are about to receive, may we be eternally grateful.”

Victor mumbled his amen. 

It had been a long time since he’d prayed. At his family’s table. At officer’s dinner. It always left a bitter taste in his mouth, heart weighing heavy and smirk slipping off his lips as he opened his eyes again...

It must have showed on his face.

“You don’t believe?”

Victor’s heart dropped into his stomach as he caught JJ’s eye across the table, hands freezing in their reaching for his chopsticks.

His mouth thinned bitterly. 

“How could I?” he all but hissed.

He was fleeing his homeland, his kin wanted him dead, he would be scorned for the company he kept… what kind of God would put a person through all that? His Babushka had taught him about God and faith. Victor had never been able to find it for himself though. 

And even if he did believe, he’d only be condemning himself. That much he definitely knew from what he’d been taught. He wasn’t fit for Heaven. He was a murderer, after all. The chief sinner. He’d taken innocent lives, had slept well at night for doing it, laid with men instead of taking a wife, had fled from the righteous war of his country… why believe in his own destruction?

He glanced down to his bowl, trying to take his mind off it. He didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole.

He didn’t want to see it - that patronising, knowing smile that he could feel JJ grinning his way. His grandmother used to have the same look about her, when she told him how special he was when he was young.  _ He was special alright, _ he thought bitterly.  _ A special kind of monster... _

Instead, he focused on the rice. 

White, fluffy grains, identical in every way. He’d never eaten much rice before. He guessed it must be good if Yuuri was diving in as hungrily as he was.

“God’s brought you safe so far,” JJ said.

Under the table, Victor’s spare hand curled into a fist. He took a deep breath, clinging to his composure before he spoke.

“I’d say that was me,” he bit out slowly, word by curt word. Glancing up out of the corner of his eye,  _ the smile _ was still on JJ’s face. In another life, Victor would have punched that grin right off of JJ’s face. “ _ I _ got us out,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Not God - God would have let us starve and  _ freeze _ . I saved us.”

God hadn’t been there in the forest when they’d been starving, when Yuuri had been bleeding on Nikolai’s table, or cried at night for the pain… but Victor had. Victor had been there. Victor had saved them. 

Nobody else.

He swallowed thickly, fist clenching so hard under the table that his nails dug into his palm. He tried to focus on that, honing in on the little pinpricks of pain jolting up from his hand.

It was safer. 

He didn’t trust his temper, hoping that JJ wouldn’t push the subject further. His God wasn’t Victor’s God, but Victor didn’t want to start a fight about it. He couldn’t afford a fight about it. Getting on the wrong side of these people was a bad move. They knew too much. They could hand them over too easily if they wanted. Victor had to stay on their good side… for Yuuri’s sake.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri was still eating, oblivious. He didn’t know what they were talking about. He probably wasn’t even listening. Why should he?

It was all for him though, Victor reminded, forcing down his temper with a deep breath. It was all to keep Yuuri safe for just one more night.

Tomorrow, their fate could be back in their own hands again.

As soon as Georgi was gone, they should go too.

“When did they come here?” Victor asked quietly, blinking down at the table. “The Russians. When did they come?”

He still couldn’t believe that of all the people Yakov had sent to hunt him, Georgi Popovich was leading the pack. The weird soldier that had been a mentor to Victor when he was a young, wild soldier. His friend, once upon a time. It was cruel. The worst bit was that Georgi was clearly happy to do it though, the brutal splinter of Seung-gil’s boat as Georgi had ordered it blown to bits echoing in Victor’s mind. His old friend was happy to see him die.

Victor winced at the thought, eye twitching. He guessed Georgi wasn’t as much of a friend as he’d thought he was... 

“A few weeks ago,” JJ said stiffly. Victor could tell he wasn’t smiling anymore. “At first, we thought they’d come to check on the Russian missionaries after the Rebellion in the North. But then even when they found out the church had moved on - months ago! The last clergyman left months ago…” JJ paused, clearing his throat. “But they stayed.”

Victor glanced over, catching JJ’s hardened eye - and forcing himself to hold it, despite the guilt churning in his gut. He kept his face passive, unreadable.

JJ’s jaw tensed. “Like they were waiting for something.”

Victor didn’t dare look away.

He couldn’t, even if he had wanted to. His silence gave JJ all the confirmation he needed, not even trying to deny it. What was the point in denying it? JJ knew. He was too smart.

“I’m sorry,” was all Victor said, feeling the warmth of fresh blood welling on his palm under the table. “I didn’t know.”

Sorry wasn’t enough. Victor knew it… but it was all he had.

He knew what his countrymen did when they came to towns. Honestly, this town had gotten off lightly. If the Russian’s had had any standing left in Manchuria, it would have been worse. JJ and his wife might not have even had a house to hide them in, Victor remembering Otabek telling them how the Russians were burning villages as they withdrew. 

“I … I have someone I have to protect,” he said, as if any excuse could be enough to make up for the damage done. “Someone I care about very much.”

He knew Yuuri wasn’t paying attention. He could hear him eating even without looking, knowing those gorgeous chocolate eyes weren’t paying attention to anything but the rice. Not that Yuuri could understand anyway. It made Victor’s heart ache in his chest, hand itching to reach out for Yuuri’s and just  _ hold _ him. He felt a part of him missing when he didn’t have the young man near, sparking feelings inside him that he hadn’t even known someone like him  _ could _ feel.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the wife slide a hand across the table to her husband. Victor gritted his jaw jealously. “Surely, you understand?”

JJ’s expression didn’t change, stiff and unreadable. 

It infuriated Victor.

The man had a wife - a wife who he seemed to care about a great deal from what Victor had seen. He’d been down the stairs in a shot when she had smashed her bowl, taking charge the instant he’d seen the pistol involved. Victor had seen it in his eyes. JJ hadn’t been afraid for himself when Yuuri had swung the gun his way - he’d been afraid for his wife.

He and Victor might have a million things to differ on, but there was one thing they had in common for sure - they both had someone to protect, above all else. JJ had to understand that.

JJ’s gaze shifted, glancing down the table past Victor. “Him?”

_ Yuuri. _

Victor forced himself not to react. “He doesn’t understand.”

JJ’s lips twitched. “Some things go beyond words.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.”

Victor paused, heart hammering in his chest. He felt the panic slip through his system, simmering in his veins. 

JJ leaned forward - holding Victor’s eye - bracing an arm squarely on the tabletop. “A man will do unthinkable things to protect the one he loves,” he murmured quietly. Victor heard every word crystal clear though, feeling a chill jolt down his spine. It was like JJ knew everything, like he could see everything of Victor’s sinful past just from looking into his eyes. “Am I right?”

Victor’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips before he’d realised what he was doing, cursing himself silently. He wanted to be still, to be silent, a foreboding figure… he was losing his touch.

“What do you want?” he finally asked, barely more than a whisper.

He didn’t have anything…

JJ’s eyes glinted, smile flittering over his lips. It disappeared as quickly as it had come though, nothing but a ghost as it vanished in the blink of an eye.

“Be honest with me,” he said simply. “Who are you?”

Victor held his breath.

He could lie. He could lie and JJ might never know the difference. They had papers in the backpack - he doubted JJ would be able to know with any certainty if they were fake or not. He could be Dimitry again, a tragic story of a traveller that had gotten on the wrong side of the law and irritated the wrong people. Nothing more, nothing less…

He knew the second he thought it that he wouldn’t say it though. The look in JJ’s eyes wasn’t playing their game anymore. 

He wanted answers.

And he had Victor backed into a corner.

Victor sighed, admitting defeat. What else could he do? “My name is Vict-”

_ “Yamero!”  _

Yuuri’s hand jerked out, fingers tight as they grasped Victor’s wrist on the table. Victor jumped in surprise, eyes spinning round.

He was surprised to find Yuuri’s so dark, so narrowed. They looked … well, dangerous. That wouldn’t help, he thought, heart sinking. They were supposed to be trying convince the couple that they weren’t a threat…

He understood Yuuri’s reservations though. He didn’t understand what was happening, what they’d been talking about. To him, the couple were still strangers, still capable of selling them out. Victor knew they could too. It wasn’t too late for them to save themselves yet and throw Victor and Yuuri into Georgi’s waiting hands… but he didn’t think they would. 

There was just something in JJ’s eyes, that crystal clear resolution that Victor knew deep down in his gut -  _ honesty _ . 

He barely remembered what that felt like anymore...

Victor closed his hand over Yuuri’s, squeezing his fingers softly. He didn’t know what he could say to get him to understand… so he said nothing.

He turned back to JJ.

“I am Victor Nikiforov,” he said, slow and clear. “And this is Yuuri. I-I don’t -” his voice trembled, and he sucked in a deep breath before he went on, unable to hold JJ’s eye for the shame that weighed down his heart. “I don’t know his last name. We fled the war. In Manchuria. That’s why they’re hunting us.”

He almost heard his words echo back to him the silence was so thick, hearing the blood pounding in his ears in the pause that followed.

Nobody moved.

Except Victor.

He sucked in a deep breath and felt his shoulders slump, chest rising and falling with slow control. A weight he hadn’t realised he’d been carrying breathed off his shoulders, freeing him. For better or worse, he’d been honest. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it though.

Even as JJ leaned back in his chair, unnervingly quiet. Victor could see him thinking hard behind his eyes, weighing up Victor’s words, what they meant, the risk...

“That sounds like a lot of effort for one soldier,” he finally said, gaze still guarded.

Victor’s jaw tensed. “I wasn’t just a soldier.”

He’d understand if JJ didn’t want them to stay. He’d understand - as long as JJ didn’t sell them out, Victor would understand. They’d walk away with no questions asked, no grudges held, would run as fast as they could in the other direction as Georgi and the soldiers…

To his surprise though, JJ just smiled - and this time, it reached his eyes. They sparkled at him like they had when JJ had first come back from leaving the fake trail.

“Whoever you are,” he said slowly. His smile didn’t waver though. “You are welcome to stay here.”

Victor’s eyes blinked wide, shocked.

He hadn’t expected that.

“R-really?” he gasped, hardly daring to believe his luck. Knowing all he knew - knowing what was at stake - JJ was still willing to hide them? It was beyond a miracle…

Victor glanced between JJ and his wife, drinking in their open smiles, their friendly eyes… a part of him flashed with warning, screaming at him to stay alert for a trick. One look at the honest sparkle in JJ’s eye helped to kill that in a heartbeat though - they weren’t lying. They weren’t scheming. They really meant it.

Victor didn’t have the words to say. Except - “Who are you?”

Who did this? Who let strangers into their home, hid them, protected them - even after having a gun held to their face! Above all else, who then sat down and ate dinner with them like they were friends? Most people wouldn’t - with good reason!

JJ’s smile widened. 

“My name is Jean-Jacques Leroy,” he said. “But everyone calls me JJ. And this is my wife, Isabella-”

“-just Bella,” she smiled, squeezing her husband’s hand.

JJ chuckled, eyes glowing as they lingered over his wife. It made a lump stick in Victor’s throat, chest tightening. He knew that was how he looked at Yuuri. He’d never seen it from the outside before.

“We came with a mission group from England, though we’re from Canada originally. We’re the last ones left.”

_ Canada,  _ Victor thought to himself, nodding with interest. Not America. He stored it away. All information might come in handy one day.  

Bella giggled, propping her cheek up in her fist. “He proposed when he got accepted,” she beamed. “So I could come with him.”

She definitely loved him for his personality at least, Victor thought to himself, keeping the words hidden behind tight lips. Everybody knew there wasn’t much glory in the life of a missionary, let alone the wife of one. They looked happy though, he noted with a bitter kick to his gut. Happier than Victor had ever felt in his entire life, even though they had next to nothing. Just each other…

Victor jumped when Yuuri’s hand twitched under his, jerking round to the young soldier. A soft, almost nervous smile was waiting for him. 

“Tabe teru?” he asked, eyes sparkling.

Victor had barely wrinkled his brow in a frown before Yuuri was rolling his eyes, slipping his hand out from under Victor’s to point - at his bowl.

Across the table, Bella giggled.

Victor blinked in surprise. “What?”

He stared at her in shock, momentarily stunned. She had laughed the moment Yuuri had spoke, like she knew what he had said. Like she had understood. Victor stared with wide eyes as he drank it in, watching Bella slowly pull her hand down from her mouth. She was still smiling.

“He’s-” Bella chuckled again, glancing away in amusement. “He’s asking if you’re going to eat that.”

Victor just blinked, unmoving. “H-how did you-”

“My father lived in Japan for a time,” Bella explained before Victor could even finish asking, still smiling as she glanced over to Yuuri. “He only left when the war started. He taught me. I’m far from fluent but I still remember a little, I suppose. I don’t get much practise.”

Victor’s mouth ran dry.

A little was enough. A little was a  _ lifesaver  _ for Victor! He could finally communicate with Yuuri, not just through gestures and expressions - actual translations! He could hardly believe it…

It took his breath away, wondering what to say, what to ask. There were so many things. Was he in pain? Where did he want to go? Was he happy? Did he even want to stay with Victor? Was he still hungry, if he was asking about food? What was his favourite colour? Did he want to kiss Victor as much as Victor wanted to kiss him-

“Do you…” This time it was JJ’s turn to run a hand over his smiling mouth - distracting Victor from his wonder - his turn to grin. “Do you know how to use those?” he chuckled, pointing.

Victor followed the finger...to the chopsticks beside his bowl.

It was only then Victor noticed he was the only one who hadn’t remotely touched his food. Yuuri’s bowl was all but empty and though Isabella and JJ hadn’t eaten much, they had still eaten. Victor’s rice remained untouched though, undisturbed. He hadn’t touched a thing. His stomach ached at the reminder, the jolt of pain rippling through his insides. He should eat. He  _ needed _ to eat. 

“Um…” He stared down at his chopsticks for a moment, blinking dumbly. “No,” he finally confessed. 

He wished he’d paid more attention to the rest of his company now, at least watching the way they might have held the sticks. Victor really didn’t have much of a clue. He picked them up gingerly - lighter than he expected - dropping one back on the table almost instantly when he tried balancing them clumsily between his fingers.

What was he doing, he thought cursing himself silently in his head. He was an officer. He was a smart man. Surely, eating with chopsticks couldn’t be so hard? He should be able to figure it out. He could do this...

At least it made Yuuri laugh. The sound made Victor’s heart skip a beat, breath catching in his lungs at the delighted sparkle in his eyes.

What he would give to see that more often…

Then, an idea hit him.

His eyes flashed wide at the thought, tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips. His heart rate pick up the more it sank in, hammering in his chest. “How do I ask for help?” 

He didn’t take his eyes off Yuuri as he asked, memorising every detail meticulously. The gleeful crinkle in the corner of Yuuri’s eyes, the innocent lopsided edge to his smile, the way his dirty glasses slipped down his nose ever so slightly… it was gorgeous. Victor wanted to know every detail intimately. He wanted to know everything.

Including his language.

“Tasu-ke-te,” Bella said from across the table, slow and steady. Victor could hear the warmth in her voice, hear her smile.

He didn’t have time to look though. He didn’t have time for anything that involved taking his eyes off Yuuri for a second.

Yuuri though, glanced away.

His eyes flickered to Bella, smile chipping ever so slightly. Confusion bled into his gaze, brow furrowing ever so slightly. He must be confused, Victor thought. His language… but she wasn’t speaking to him. 

Victor was surprised nobody else could hear the way the blood boxed in his ears it drummed so loud as Yuuri glanced back to him, eyes round and glistening.

_ Beautiful. _

Victor would learn how to say that next.

Victor’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips, feeling a lump lodge impossibly in his throat.  _ “Tasu...kete.” _

He knew it didn’t sound the same. He tried, he spoke slowly, but he knew it didn’t sound the same. He didn’t mind. He didn’t try again.

Because - watching Yuuri’s eyes widen - he clearly got his meaning across.

The smile slapped right off Yuuri’s face, silence stretching between them as they just … stared. Victor felt his heart skip a beat, chest aching in wonder. He was lost in the innocent glitter of Yuuri’s eyes, happy to let himself drown in it…

When Yuuri gulped, Victor’s eyes followed the movement.

“ D-dōzo .”

It rasped out of Yuuri’s mouth, gloriously breathless, just as ragged as Victor was at the realisation of what it meant. Victor remembered hearing Yuuri speak Russian on the boat. Just one word. One simple, wonderful word, knowing how it swelled his heart to hear Yuuri speak in his mother tongue… he watched that same awe flood over Yuuri’s expression in front of him, beautifully dazzled.

It didn’t change even as Yuuri slipped out of his chair, eyes holding their contact even as he leaned over Victor’s side. His hand cupped around Victor’s, picking up his fallen chopstick from the table.

Victor let him rearrange his fingers, Yuuri’s eyes finally breaking their gaze to glance down at Victor’s fingers, moving him as easily as a doll.

The chopsticks still fell though.

And a laugh bubbled from Yuuri’s lips. “ Īe!” he gasped, fingers firming around Victor’s. “Anata wa sorera-”

Victor felt his own lips curve into a smile, cheeks pinching at the movement. He couldn’t help himself. Watching the blush glow high on Yuuri’s cheeks, watching the chuckles giggle forth from his lips - it was glorious, warmth flooding through his chest listening to Yuuri laugh. He didn’t care that it was at his expense. He was just happy to see it.

He didn’t pay even the slightest bit of attention to how Yuuri manipulated his fingers, nor did he let Bella or JJ translate his instructions to English. He only wanted Yuuri, wanted to share in his smile.

Victor never learned how to use the chopsticks. 

Eventually, even Yuuri gave up - hauling his chair around the corner of the table to sit beside Victor and pluck the rice out of the bowl with the chopsticks himself, feeding Victor bite by bite.

Victor adored every second.

He was sad when the bowl was empty and Bella stood to clear them, but he was glad when Yuuri didn’t move from his side, hand sliding over his on his thigh under the table.

“Let me check your arm,” he heard JJ say, not bothering to turn his head away from Yuuri to see him speak for himself. The legs of his chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood. “I was studying to be a doctor back in England, you know.” 

Victor and Yuuri’s fingers parted under the table as JJ drew up behind them, steps soft and presence kind. Victor didn’t think the doctor had anything for them to be nervous of. He seemed like a nice man. But they still didn’t  _ really  _ know him, and it would be careless to make assumptions or tempt offending him so recklessly. They needed his help - they still needed to be careful though.

Victor twitched on instinct as the doctor’s hands firmly touched his bicep, but he didn’t feel any pain. JJ leaned low over his shoulder; Victor could feel his breath brush over his hairline, rustling his dark bangs.

“I’ve said you could stay,” JJ said quietly, close enough that only Victor and Yuuri would hear him, voice not loud enough to wander into the next room. “But I have one condition.”

Victor stiffened. 

“No guns,” JJ breathed on, barely skipping a beat. His fingers didn’t stop gently probing Victor’s bicep, pausing only when Victor hissed as he found a tender spot. “Not in this house, not around my darling Isabella. If you want to live with us, you have to live  _ like  _ us.” One hand dropped away from Victor’s arm, palm up.  _ Waiting _ . Victor eyed it warily, not moving. “I’ll hold it safe. You have my word.”

Victor didn’t move. 

The pistol still sat innocently on the table, ignored but not forgotten. A reminder of who they were, what they were all doing. JJ hadn’t asked him to take it out of sight or put it away before. He must know what it meant to them. How could he ask it of them?

A part of Victor understood. He loved his wife; he wanted to protect her just as Victor wanted to protect Yuuri. They clearly had very different ideals to achieving that though...

The enemy had guns.

Victor had seen for himself that the enemy had guns. If they handed theirs over and Georgi came back, they would be outmatched. They could be shot. They could be killed.

He gritted his jaw, deciding. 

Across JJ’s arm, he could feel Yuuri watching him. He could see the dampened smile, the round eyes - not understanding what they were talking about, but clearly understanding the pinched expression on Victor’s face, the severity to JJ’s tone. Victor could feel him waiting. Trusting in Victor to make the right decision for them both.

Could Victor do it? He wondered of himself. Could he defend them both without the gun? Could he keep Yuuri safe?

If they kept in JJ’s good books though, he suddenly thought, they might not need the pistol - even if Georgi did come back looking. Russian soldiers had no authority to raid Chinese houses. If they kept low, kept quiet, and JJ kept his word … Georgi would never know they were here. They wouldn’t need to fight. They wouldn’t need the gun. Victor didn’t like the uncertainty or vulnerability of it… but they’d have a better chance surviving by hiding in JJ’s house than wandering through unknown forests, gun or no gun.

He eyed the pistol across the table, as if JJ might somehow evaporate it from their sight the moment he looked away.

“How can I trust your word?” he asked quietly, voice clipped.

Words were cheap, promises easily broken. Victor knew that only all too well thanks to their former fisherman friend, more so than he’d care to admit.

Out of the corner of his eye, Victor watched JJ’s mouth draw thin.

“The fisherman that sold you out?” the doctor hissed under his breath, hunching a fraction lower over Victor’s shoulder. His eyes glanced to the kitchen door. “On the docks?”

Victor’s skin crawled. 

They hadn’t told the couple about Seung-gil.

Victor nodded stiffly anyway, a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t like where this was going...

“He’s dead.”

Victor pressed his eyes shut.

He wasn’t surprised - he was only surprised that JJ knew about it. What had he heard? How much did the people know? More importantly, how well could they keep a secret?

“Knowing this,” JJ hissed on. “I still offer you sanctuary.”

Victor felt the shift as JJ leaned forward over his shoulder, heard the soft click as the doctor plucked the gun off the table top. He didn’t move to stop him. 

“Take that as my word.”

 

* * *

They slept on the floor. Under the table, moved to press up against the back wall with a blanket draped over the edges that stretched to the floor around it. It kept them hidden. Mostly. Enough that anybody who might peek through a gap in the curtains wouldn’t see anything suspicious.

Under the cover, Victor cupped Yuuri’s cheek, thumb stroking gently over his cheekbones. They still glowed with colour, still flushed with quiet rage.

Victor could see it in his companions eyes. 

He wasn’t happy.

He didn’t feel safe.

Victor didn’t blame him.

 

* * *

It wasn’t another two days until JJ came back with a beam on his face, heralding the good news that Victor had barely dared hope for.

“They’re gone!” 

Isabella gasped from where she stood in the kitchen doorway, smile breathing over her lips a half second before her hands slapped over her mouth in disbelief. If Victor hadn’t been so stunned himself, he might have joined her.

He knew JJ had said that Georgi had been clearing out the station after their faked escape, the last man standing, but something in Victor had been wary. Hadn’t dared hope. Hope had been a luxury that had sold him short too many times to think about. He hadn’t fully bought into it this time, waiting to enact his Plan B when that hope failed, then Plan C when that fell short too, then on and on until … well, he hadn’t gotten that far.

JJ was beaming as he crossed the living room, easily catching Victor’s eye. His own looked so smug, so assuredly confident.

“I knew it would work,” he said, without a shadow of doubt in his tone. “The station is empty. They’re gone.”

“You’re free.”

Victor choked on air.

But he didn’t argue it. After all, was it technically wrong? The hunt was off their trail. They could walk out the front door without fear. They could leave. They could  _ live _ . 

Maybe JJ was right.

Maybe they were free.

Victor’s hand grappled blindly behind him, chest still too tight to breathe, eyes too stinging for him to be able to see clearly. The air hitched in his lungs. He still couldn’t quite believe it, feeling the weight lift ever so slightly off his shoulders.

His fingers finally found Yuuri.

As soon as they brushed over Yuuri’s shirt, they curled. Victor turned as he pulled, dragging Yuuri in behind him as he swung round himself, arm already arching to swallow Yuuri in a hug.

He couldn’t help it. His chest ached - like JJ had punched a hole right through him that only Yuuri could plug - crushing him tight against his front, face buried where Yuuri’s neck met his shoulder. He sucked in a shuddering breath, eyelashes fluttering over Yuuri’s warm skin when he blinked.

He could feel Yuuri’s heart hammering against his chest, hear his sharp inhale by his ear. Victor knew he’d been sudden. Yuuri didn’t even understand what JJ had said yet…

He found it hard to regret his actions though, only holding onto Yuuri tighter.

“Where will you go next?” Bella asked.

Victor blinked in wonder over Yuuri’s shoulder, mind spinning. “I … I don’t know.” He could go anywhere - everywhere! The choice had never been so much of a reality before.

“Who says you have to go?”

Victor glanced up - back over his shoulder - his heart in his mouth.

JJ grinned at them, mouth pinched in the corners in a smirk and his eyes twinkling… but serious. Very serious. He reached out a hand, palm open and inviting. “Welcome to the family.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Daijoubu - are you okay?  
> Tabe teru? - are you eating that?  
> Tasukete - help me  
> dōzo - here  
> Īe - no  
> Anata wa sorera - you need to-


	10. Chapter 10

Victor had always been a wanderer - he’d never had a real home. His family’s farmhouse he’d resented. The army base had been a haven while he’d been training, but it wasn’t a home. It was never enough. And then as Victor had slowly risen up through the ranks, he never stayed in one place for too long. His posts always changed; always travelling, new battles, new soldiers, new missions…

Now though, he might just have finally found it.

“You cheated!”

“I did not!”

“You must have!”

JJ yelled behind him as Victor jogged down the last yards of the path from the plantation, grin wide and hands firm around the straps of the wicker basket hooked over his shoulder. JJ did the same as he caught up, red faced and out of breath.

“There is no way you could-”  _ wheeze. “- _ have beaten me fairly!” JJ rasped as they came to a stop, doubling over - the basket of tea on his back  _ only just _ not overturning - and bracing his hands on his knees. “I’ve been hiking-”  _ wheeze. “ _ -and harvesting these fields for two years! No, I-” He straightened up, still traitorously red in the face. He jabbed a thumb to his chest. “I am the King.”

Victor tried to keep a straight face.

Really, he tried.

The laughter bubbled in his chest before he could stop it though, barking out loud and shameless - but genuine. He hadn’t been able to imagine himself ever laughing again after he’d fled that battlefield in Manchuria…

He clapped a fond hand over JJ’s shoulder, eyes twinkling mischievously. “If you’re the King, then I’m the Tsar.”

_ That would be the day _ …

It had been their routine for the last few weeks. Once the coast had been clear, Victor and Yuuri had slowly started venturing out of the house under JJ’s instruction. True to his word, the locals paid them no attention. If they knew anything about Victor’s connection with the Russian’s, they never said, treating him as if he was just some random traveller, a normal man slowly passing through.

Only… they stuck. Victor went with JJ to help harvest the tea farms when they came into season. It was simple work. It was a modest wage. It was enough. 

Honestly, Victor was delighted with it.

He felt his spirit lift with every day he put in honest work. He felt his troubles melt away every time he handed in his crop to the plantation master for his payment. His soul cleansed slowly but surely with every new friendly smile he passed on his way through the village, starting to blend into the framework of the village.

He felt like a man again.

He could barely remember the sound of gunfire anymore, barely woke up at night from terrible dreams, hardly even remembered what it felt like to feel fear. All that had been left behind, dead with the soldier he’d let go a long time ago. 

It had been the most peaceful month of Victor’s life.

JJ paused as he folded his own wages into his belt after handing in his crop, tight around his waist. He caught Victor’s eye, lips already twitching in a grin. “... race you back to the village?”

Victor smirked back. “You’re on.”

 

* * *

 

Dinner became something that Victor relished. His simple bowl of rice and vegetables - sometimes just vegetables and broth if they were stretching the food too thin that week - was treasured more than he’d ever imagine. It was a regular meal. They had regular meals again. Victor started to forget how it felt to starve.

Best of all though, was seeing Yuuri put on weight again.

It made his heart glow to see Yuuri’s cheeks get rounder and rounder when he ate, no longer the gaunt pale man he had been when they’d been on the run. Now, he was healthy. 

His shoulder was all but healed, Victor letting his fingers wonder whenever he checked it to indulge for himself in the little pinch of weight that softened Yuuri’s middle again, such a refreshing change to feeling the clack of his ribcage. He always tickled. Yuuri always laughed. Victor simply couldn’t help himself.

“You’re so much better...” Victor marvelled to himself under his breath one night, hand pausing on the curve of Yuuri’s waist, feeling his chest tighten.

He couldn’t help it - for once, he finally saw a future.

They were still under the table for now. There wasn’t a second bedroom in JJ and Bella’s house but they didn’t mind, padding out the space with as many blankets they could spare. It was comfortable. It was cosy. Compared to what they’d made do with before, it was paradise.

Victor sighed as Yuuri gently cupped his cheek, warmth radiating off his palm. It was wonderful, Victor thought, letting Yuuri guide his eyes back up to his rosy cheeked face.

“Victor...” 

Yuuri still curled the  _ ‘u’  _ on the end of his name. 

Victor found it adorable, smiling to himself as he watched Yuuri’s cheeks darken adorably. His thumb stroked over Yuuri’s waist, holding his eye. “ _ Kawaīdesu… _ ”

The effect was immediate.

Yuuri’s eyes flashed round, lips ghosting apart, cheeks flushing red … Victor knew his pronunciation might be off but he was glad Yuuri still got the message, pride swelling happily in his chest. He couldn’t help it. Finally, they had an opportunity to get on the same level, to finally speak the same language… Victor would do whatever it took, especially if it got him a reaction like this.

“Bella taught me,” he muttered in English, shrugging. He was glad he’d asked now, glad he’d been able to do this small thing for Yuuri. He knew how much it must mean. 

Yuuri didn’t say his thanks back in words though - he just tackled Victor to the floor, fingers reaching back to tangle in his shaggy dark locks, and kissing his gasp right off his lips.

 

* * *

“Victor… can I speak to you for a moment?”

Dread pooled in Victor’s gut the moment he heard those words, feeling his heart skip a beat. He glanced across the room - Bella was in the kitchen. JJ always reserved the serious conversations for when Bella was out of earshot in the kitchen…

He could hardly refuse.

He lifted his chair from underneath him instead of scraping it back along the floor, standing slowly and silently. If JJ wanted to keep it quiet, he’d honour that. What else could he do?

He expected they’d go outside. 

The house was one of many built around an old garden piece, with elaborate flowers and a gentle stream running through the middle. It was peaceful, the evening sky glittering with stars above and the air quiet. Often that was where they’d have their talks, in the quiet, in the seclusion, nobody to disturb them…

… which was why Victor was surprised when JJ waved him over to the staircase.

He’d never gone upstairs - out of respect for JJ mostly. There was nothing up there as far as Victor knew, just the bedroom and JJ’s study. 

He glanced uncertainty over his shoulder, foot pausing on the bottom of the first step. Through the kitchen doorway, he glimpsed Yuuri. Smiling. Laughing. Just looking at it made his own lips twitch in the corners, chest tightening with the urge to go and join him. He’d love to just sweep him in his arms, hear that magical laugh for himself and drink in every second of it, feel the warmth of Yuuri’s body under his fingertips-

“Victor.”

Victor jumped, head snapping up the staircase.

JJ was already rolling his eyes at the top of the stairs though, stepping onto the landing. Victor cleared his throat awkwardly as he followed.

When he caught up, the hallway was empty. There were two doors along the left - the far one was open. Victor stepped forward warily.

He’d never seen JJ’s study. Honestly, he’d never even thought of it. If JJ had come with a missionary group, Victor had imagined that any ‘work’ he’d been doing would be for the church and Victor had very little interest in that. Sure enough, the first thing he saw around the doorframe was a crucifix, plain smooth wood hooked high on the wall above the desk. Books lined one side of the room. Photographs and newspaper clippings pinned to the wall on the other, the same middle aged couple making more than one appearance. Victor guessed they were JJ’s parents.

“Do you miss them?” he heard himself ask before he’d even finished thinking about the question.

At the desk, JJ glanced over his shoulder.

“Sometimes,” he shrugged, turning back to his task with a slight downturn in the tone of his voice. “But I’m out here to make them proud. To make everyone proud. I was quite the celebrity back home, you see. I had this …” his head rocked from side to side in thought as he searched for the right word. “ _ Flare  _ with people. I was always going to do something great.” He paused, looking up from his task and bracing his hands on the desktop. His head angled up towards the crucifix. “I  _ am  _ going to do something great.”

Victor swallowed thickly, forcing down the lump in his throat. It sounded like himself - from fifteen years ago. “You did,” he said brokenly. “You saved our lives…”

He could never repay JJ for that.

JJ’s shoulders just slumped. The message was clear - it wasn’t enough for him. Victor wasn’t surprised. If his hometown had looked at him with the same glowing, adoring eyes that his wife did, he must feel stripped here without it, must need  _ more  _ to take back home for them. 

Victor didn’t blame him. At least JJ wanted it to make his home proud, his wife, his family… Victor had only wanted it for himself.

He glanced back up to the wall, eyes roaming again over the photographs. One caught his eye - one of a young boy in a pair of skates on an ice lake. He recognised that determined spark in the boy’s eye. “You skated?”

“Oh...”

Victor heard JJ’s slow, wandering footsteps behind him, but he didn’t turn, still admiring the picture. The way the light glinted off the ice, the chill in the air misting the boy’s breath… it reminded him of home. He ignored the dull twang in his chest at the thought. 

“I was going to go to the World Championships at one point,” JJ said over his shoulder, voice wistful. “I had a fanclub and everything. That’s how I met Isabella. She always supported me.” His footsteps moved back to the desk, but Victor still heard his quiet chuckle from across the room. “She helped me come up with my catchphrase.”

Victor’s head whipped over his shoulder. “You had a catchphrase?”

JJ’s head drooped as he laughed, shoulders bobbing with the movement. For a moment, Victor thought he wouldn’t answer him. Then-

JJ spun on his heels, hands crossing in front of him with his forefingers to the ceiling. He winked. “It’s JJ style!”

Victor just stared, eyes wide with surprise. 

JJ's hands dropped back to his side's with a stiff chuckle, eyes dipping. His back turned. “It doesn’t mean much out here though...”

Victor wasn’t surprised. A life in the church didn’t leave room for bravado no matter how much talent was behind it. It was too humble for him, even if he had believed. He knew men that had followed the church. It wasn’t the life for him. Though he guessed it was more of a stable life for a man taking a wife than figure skating...

“That’s why we’re leaving.”

Victor’s head whipped round so fast his neck clicked, breath hitching. He stared at the back of JJ’s head. “ _ What _ ?”

He couldn’t have heard right, he told himself. His English was wrong, the words had blurred in the short space of the small room, some context before it that Victor had missed… it  _ had _ to be something.  _ They couldn’t be… they just couldn’t... _

When JJ turned around though - fanning two pieces of paper between his upheld fingers - Victor could see in his eyes that he hadn’t misheard.

“We’re going home,” he said, voice deadly serious and gaze solid. “There’s a boat in India that’s going to take us back to England in three months. That’s all the time we’ve got left until we run out of money.”

So that’s what the paper was, Victor realised, eyes widening.  _ Tickets.  _ Boat tickets back to England, sailing his and Yuuri’s salvation away….

His heart dropped into his stomach, mind racing. He could feel his mouth hanging open, gormless. He didn’t know what to say though. The tickets were bought. They were leaving. And Yuuri… Yuuri would be out on the street again, shelterless and destitute. How would Victor possibly support him without JJ?

“I have to think of Isabella,” JJ went on, unprompted. “She’d follow me anywhere… but there’s no kind of life for her here. I have to think of my wife.”

_ And I have to think of Yuuri, _ Victor thought to himself.

He didn’t know what to do.

“Three months?” he rasped, voice barely recognisable even to his own ears. Three months - that had been what JJ had said, hadn’t it? At least he had time. Would it be enough though? He didn’t even speak the language like JJ did. How was he possibly going to-

“And then the house is yours.”

Victor’s head jerked up. “W-what?”

If he hadn’t been hearing things before, he definitely was now.

He stared at JJ with wide eyes, jaw hanging open, watching the sparkle slowly start to glitter in JJ’s eye again. Was he joking? He had to be joking with him. Surely...

“The house was bought out by the church when we came here,” he shrugged, lips pressing together in a smooth smirk. “When we go, nobody will come back for it. It can be yours….if you want it?”

Victor choked on air.  _ If they- _

“Yes,” he said before he could even finish the thought, hand jerking forward. His mouth was still hanging open. He didn’t bother closing it.

JJ stepped forward, slotting his hand firmly into Victor’s.

 

* * *

Victor let his eyes flutter shut as he listened to the gentle trickle running water, sliding warm and comforting over his skin. It down his back, flicked off his eyelashes, ran slithering through his fingers as he ran his hands through his hair. It was peaceful. Beautiful. It was a blessing he never thought he’d get another chance to have. 

A  _ bath _ .

It was the best bath he’d ever had. The water was blissfully hot - fresh from a deep hotspring from high up in the mountains, Bella had said, running down the hills to make small pools in the valleys and crevices. The steam followed it, shrouding the mountain in mist that had sweat beading on Victor’s skin, cleansing his lungs with every inhale. A gentle ripple ran over the surface of the water, not big enough to be distracting but enough to remind Victor that the water was constantly still moving through the cracks in the stone, every changing, ever flowing. For every minute he stood there, he was bathing in new, fresh water. He wondered if the Tsar himself had ever experienced something so fine.

His eyelashes fluttered, gazing lazily through the steam. One thing he was sure of though - the Tsar himself would never have such a beautiful sight.

Yuuri stood across the pool, his damp hair slicked back and his cheeks flushed from the heat. His skin glistened with sweat, eyes soft like molten chocolate as they caught Victor’s gaze over his shoulder. Sweat flickered off his long eyelashes.

Victor was moving before he even realised it.

He waded through the water, skin shuddering pleasantly as the warm water lapped around his muscles, ripples skimming across the pool from around his thighs until they bumped Yuuri’s hips.

Victor’s hands followed them.

“You’re too hot,” he murmured under his breath as he slotted himself behind the younger man, his chest to Yuuri’s back, and arms winding around Yuuri’s waist. His fingers danced over Yuuri’s stomach, enjoying how soft and smooth his skin was as he dipped his mouth to where Yuuri’s neck met his shoulder.

Yuuri tilted his head, giving Victor more room. Victor sucked a kiss into his heated skin, pleased at the red marks he left behind when he pulled away.

Looking over Yuuri’s shoulder, he took in the view.

It was incredible. The mountain loomed behind them so the valleys unfolded ahead, stone and forests melding together in graceful rise and falls, the trickling streams and pools carving through them glittering in the yellow sunlight glowing on the horizon. It was breathtaking, Yuuri leaning his hands on the stone edge of their pool to tilt his hips back against Victor’s.

Victor moaned quietly at the contact.

“Kore wa totemo sutekidesu...” Yuuri sighed breathlessly, leaning his head back to rest on Victor’s shoulder.

Victor smiled into Yuuri’s skin, relishing every moment.

In all honesty, he never wanted it to end. His fingers rubbed lazy patterns over Yuuri’s sweat slicked skin, reaching up to comb loosely through his damp raven hair. It felt soft, strands moulding effortlessly under his fingertips. He wanted to stay like this forever, with Yuuri, at peace, with all the time in the world…

Yuuri’s head rolled and Victor didn’t hesitate, tilting his face up in just the right way to catch Yuuri’s waiting lips. 

Salt tinged from sweat and slick from the steam, their mouths glided together sinfully smooth, Victor tasting the heady groan right off Yuuri’s lips. He didn’t rush. He didn’t want to. He wanted to take his time enjoying Yuuri, enjoying the way Yuuri met his kisses with just a slither of hesitation, letting Victor take the lead and guide him. His hand slipped down, fingers curling around Victor’s at his hip.

Victor could feel his heartbeat hammering through his chest, thumping hard against the back of Yuuri’s shoulder blade. Could he feel it too? Victor’s breath hitched at the though, licking into Yuuri’s mouth and deepening the kiss.

Yuuri turned in his arms, wet skin sliding to make the move effortless.

Victor hadn’t thought it could get any better - but as Yuuri’s hands wove into his hair, his front pressed flush to Victor’s, and tongue peeking out to meet Victor’s as his thigh slipped between Victor’s... he was more than happy to be proven wrong. Victor’s hands slipped low, fingers dipping beneath the water. His hands fitted perfectly around the cheeks of Yuuri’s backside, feeling the flesh mould and shift under his touch.

It was only then he noticed the stiffness pressing into his hipbone from between Yuuri’s legs, shuddering as Yuuri pulled away for a moment to gasp into Victor’s shoulder.

Yuuri’s fingers were tight around Victor’s body, clinging to him for dear life. Victor wasn’t sure who the racing heartbeat belonged to anymore, feeling the thumping rattling his ribcage, making his blood sing.

He wondered if Yuuri had ever done this before. Sure, he was gorgeous, but he was shy. Even if he turned heads, would he have been confident enough to notice it?

Victor wasn’t sure.

The thought made him sad. Someone like Yuuri should always be loved, should always have someone to hold them to remind them of how treasured they were, how special he was in every way. Victor wanted to be that person. He wanted to see that spark of embarrassed happiness twinkle in Yuuri’s eye when Victor held him for a moment longer than he should in the morning. He wanted to hear the breathless giggle when Victor surprised him with kisses. He wanted to know every sigh and moan, know every detail of Yuuri’s body that made him feel good, made him shiver and shudder in pleasure.

He wanted everything about Yuuri, and he was willing to surrender his body and soul to cling onto it.

“Watashi o …” Yuuri sucked in a shuddering breath, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “...oita mama ni shinaide kudasai.”

Victor didn’t understand the words.

But he understood the delicate uncertainty in Yuuri’s eyes when he glanced up again, arousal tainted with glittering fragility like shattering glass. It broke Victor’s heart, knocking the air out of his lungs.

He cupped Yuuri’s cheek, palm warm against Yuuri’s flushed skin. “I would never let anything happen to you,” he vowed solemnly, holding Yuuri’s eye. He felt every word resonate in his soul, meaning every syllable. “I would die before I let anyone hurt you. I can’t...” his voice hitched, eyes darting away. He felt like his soul was spilled out, bared for Yuuri to see. It was terrifying, being so vulnerable, so exposed… but it was for  _ Yuuri.  _ Clearing his throat, he looked up again. He needed to say it. “I can’t live without you.”

He knew Yuuri didn’t understand - but he didn’t care. He felt lighter for saying it, heart strung out on a thread… and Yuuri’s eyes widened, cheek leaning into Victor’s touch. Catching his heart.

Yuuri reached up too, curled fingers gently brushing Victor’s damp bangs back from his eyes. His gaze followed, fingers turning to pinch the strands between his thumb and forefinger.

“Kietsutsu arimasu,” he murmured.

Victor didn’t need to know Japanese to know what was playing on his mind.

It was unignorable - the dye was fading. Or rather, Victor’s hair was growing out. The hair Yuuri touched was still relatively dark, the once stark black now a murky, faded version of what it had once been. The roots though… they were stark silver. The more time passed, the more noticeable it had started to become. 

Victor reached up and curled his fingers gently around Yuuri’s wrist, pulling his hand away. He plastered a plastic smile on his face.

He knew he shouldn’t be so defensive. The dye was all but useless at this point - they didn’t need to hide anymore. But Victor - being a proud man - didn’t like it. He didn’t like the obvious contrast in colour as his natural shade grew out. It looked ridiculous. His hair in general didn’t look great anymore, overgrown and in dire need of a trim. Maybe he could ask Bella to cut it for him. When it was long enough, maybe they would cut off the last ugly strands of black that marred him.  

Maybe he could be Victor again.

 

* * *

Victor soon found a new route home from the plantation. It took him on a more leisurely path through the village, watching the villagers prepare for the upcoming festival that weekend, hearing the musicians practise and the seamstresses work diligently on the traditional gowns. What Victor loved seeing most though, was the square.

Where Bella and Yuuri looked after their children. Watching on had quickly become his new favourite pastime.

He liked seeing Yuuri smile.

He laughed with the children in a way Victor rarely got to see, so pure, so happy, so genuinely excited… he liked seeing it, enjoying the blush that always rose to Yuuri’s cheeks when he noticed Victor noticing. It made Victor’s heart swell. 

It made him wonder what would have happened if there had been no war. Would they have had their own families if none of this had happened? Yuuri might have married a nice Japanese girl and had lots of little Yuuri’s running around. He could have had that happiness for real. Victor could never imagine the domestic life for himself though. He couldn’t quite ever get used to the idea of finding himself a wife, of settling down…

But what he’d give to be a fly on the wall of Yuuri’s would-have-been future. He would have given anything to see Yuuri so purely happy, so undamaged.

The war had happened though.

In a way, Victor was glad - if it hadn’t been for the war, he would never have even met Yuuri in the first place. It allowed him to think selfishly. No matter what he would have liked to have happened, the war  _ had  _ happened, Yuuri and Victor  _ had  _ met, and Victor was privileged enough to see the end result.

Yuuri beamed across the square as he held a little girls hand, turning her under his arm and guiding her dancing fan to brush over her cheek as she faced outwards again. He was gentle. He was patient. 

He was  _ happy _ .

It was all Victor had ever wanted. 

He didn’t know the dance Bella and Yuuri were teaching the children. He’d never seen a dance like it - all poise and grace, movements sweeping and delicate with every step and pose they took. It didn’t travel like a waltz or jump like swing. But it was beautiful, mesmerising - especially when Yuuri did it.

He stepped with delicate precision, body smooth and pliant as he moved yet thighs strong and powerful as his legs knelt low. Even the fan was beautiful. Yuuri carved patterns through the air impossibly smooth, guided by elegant fingers, arching shapes in the air around him and fluttering the fan down alluringly down his cheek, eyelashes fluttering over the edge. He looked confident. He looked graceful. As strong as a soldier, yet as alluring as a geisha. Victor felt himself fall in love all over again.

And then when those entrancing eyes caught his across the square, he felt his heart stop dead in his chest. 

His smile slipped.

He hadn’t intended for Yuuri to see him. Honestly, he hadn’t wanted to disturb him. He’d just wanted to enjoy this side of Yuuri for his own selfish pleasure, something precious for him to lock away for himself and himself alone. He hadn’t meant to let Yuuri see him. Yuuri might not want to be seen. Maybe he wanted his time with the children to be private, perhaps he wanted space from Victor, or perhaps he-

_ -danced even more enthusiastically. _

Victor’s breath caught as Yuuri spun into a pirouette - a pirouette! He never knew Yuuri could do a pirouette! The fans span around him gorgeously, long white sleeves of the traditional grab he’d been loaned swirling like clouds around the mountain tops in delicate thin strips.

Victor was mesmerised, hooked on the way the fans fluttered back from Yuuri’s face, drawing attention to his eyes when the shirt clinging around his waist was sorely tempting him to look further south instead…

Victor hadn’t realised he’d been gaping until a passing old woman nudged him from behind and nearly sent him sprawling, his jaw clacking shut hard enough to make his teeth rattle.

He swore he heard her laugh under her breath as she walked off, glaring out of the corner of his eye.

When he turned his attention back to Yuuri, the dance was over.

He was only disappointed for a moment though - Yuuri thrust his folded fans into the hands of a nearby child as he took off, sleeves billowing behind him as he raced across the square in Victor’s direction. Victor could see his smile a mile off, committing the delicate pink blush on his cheeks to memory. He looked absolutely stunning. 

He huffed out a breath as he skidded to a stop - still beaming - folding his hands neatly in front of him. 

“Hello, Victor,” he said slowly in heavily accented English, syllables soft and fluid. Victor just blinked, shocked - Yuuri was speaking  _ English _ ! Yuuri’s eyes sparkled proudly though, lips pressing into a smirk as Victor felt his eyes widen in surprise. “How are …  _ you  _ today?” 

Victor was too stunned to react.

It wasn’t perfect. It was far from perfect - the sounds were almost too soft for English, molding into one another so gracefully until they almost didn’t sound like actual words, but Victor  _ knew _ . He didn’t care. It was the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard and the way Yuuri was smiling, so proud of himself… Victor felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest with adoration.

Yuuri cleared his throat again. “Bella …” his eyes rolled up to the sky, searching for the right word. Victor could see the cogs turn behind his eyes, keen, excited, eager... “Teach me.” he finally settled on with a nod, smile slotting back into place. “I practice.”

Victor didn’t have any words to say back, his voice robbed of him. He couldn’t believe it -  _ Yuuri was learning English! _ They could speak together. Victor could help him too. Perhaps it wouldn’t be much longer that they couldn’t communicate. They could learn. They could talk. Victor could know how Yuuri truly felt -  _ at last!  _ It was really going to happen. He was really going to  _ talk _ to Yuuri.

He couldn’t speak, feeling the emotion well traitorously in his chest, feeling it pinch at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t want Yuuri to see him like that… so he pulled him in close instead, crushing him tight to his chest. 

If Yuuri noticed the wetness dampening the shoulder of his shirt, he didn’t say anything. He just wound his arms around Victor’s waist and chuckled quietly into the side of his neck. 

Victor’s heart had never felt so full.

 

* * *

It should have been a normal day.

Victor wasn’t even paying attention to what JJ was saying as they walked back through the village to home - later than usual, the sun already starting to fall on the horizon behind them. Victor just remembered laughing. Walking, noticing the steps unusually more than normal. He didn’t think much of it at the time though. 

There was no way he could have known.

Victor glanced back at the glowing yellow sun low on the skyline as JJ reached for the front door handle, stepping forward on instinct without bothering to look.

Until he walked right into JJ’s back.

“What-”

The words died instantly on Victor’s throat as he glimpsed over JJ’s shoulder, the doctor’s fingers still curled tight around the door handle. Victor’s stomach lurched at what he saw.

Bella - sprawled out on the floor, skirts strewn around her coltish legs and dress stained with the crimson red of the pool of blood she lay in. A traitorous red line slit over her throat. Victor couldn’t see her eyes, her face turned to the staircase. He already knew deep down that they would be glassy.

The rest of the house was a mess. The table was upturned. Floor boards were ripped up. Trinkets and houseware shattered and broken across the floor. Someone was looking for something.

And they were still there.

Victor could hear them. His gaze lifted to the ceiling, following the sound above. Someone was upstairs. He could hear them bang, hear them clatter as they searched through the rest of the house. Victor’s heart was in his mouth, feeling his stomach churn sickeningly.

He wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t believe in coincidence.

Nor, apparently, did JJ.

“Round the back,” JJ breathed - surprisingly calmly - as the footsteps upstairs froze, not moving an inch. He still hadn’t taken his hand off the door handle.

Victor didn’t make a sound. He heard the footsteps thunder across the floor upstairs a heartbeat after he turned, moving low and fast, keeping his own footsteps smooth and silent as he crept away from the front of the house, slipping around the side. He dipped his head under the kitchen window as he passed, just in case. He didn’t know if the kitchen door was open. They might see. 

The back door through the kitchen was shut when Victor got there, untouched. He cracked it open a silent notch - it couldn’t be seen from the staircase, the door only just out of sight enough to go unnoticed. Door a slither open though, Victor could hear again. 

He heard the stairs creak in the sitting room, footsteps running down them. There was no more sound from upstairs. It was one man, Victor realised, counting the beat of the footsteps on the stairs. Heavy. Whoever it was wore boots - the hardwearing kind. The kind one got in the military…

Victor battled down the fear quickly fighting it’s way up his throat, crouching low, silent, and still from behind the door. 

He waited.

The footsteps stopped.

“C-can I help you?” he heard JJ say from the sitting room, voice starting to shake. He was still in shock, Victor thought. His dead wife was still sprawled out in front of him. Of course, he would be in shock.

Victor blinked fast, battling away the water welling in his eyes. He gulped hard, swallowing the lump in his throat.  _ Bella… Bella was dead... _

“Where is he?” a new voice snarled.

New - but not unfamiliar.

Victor felt his heart lurch in his chest, a thousand long forgotten feelings rushing back to him. He knew that voice. It wasn’t many months ago that he’d seen his face -  _ Georgi. _

“Who?”

If Victor hadn’t been so frozen with fear, he would have blinked in shock. JJ was playing dumb, defending him…  _ why?  _ Surely, he must realise how dangerous Georgi was? The man had slaughtered his wife, left her corpse cold on the floor of their doorway! JJ would have every right to sell Victor out. Victor wouldn’t blame him. It wasn’t a game anymore…

A slow, threatening bootstep creaked on the wooden floorboards. “ _ Nikiforov _ ,” Georgi growled. “I know he’s here. You’ve been hiding him. Where is he?”

Where had they gone wrong, Victor wondered, hearing his heartbeat thunder in his ears. They hadn’t left the village. They still hadn’t given their full names to anyone. The only people they knew were the ones they worked beside day by day, laughing with, talking where they could, smiling being friendly… could one of them had sold them out?

No, Victor quickly dashed the thought. If they had been ratted out for sure, Georgi wouldn’t have come back alone. He could have come back with his men. 

That he didn’t meant something.

It meant it was personal.

“I don’t know what you mean.” JJ still said, voice calm and steady.  _ How?  _ Victor didn’t understand it.  

His thoughts turned to Yuuri. Where was Yuuri? Yuuri and Bella were never far apart, and if Bella was… where was Yuuri? He could be coming home. If he came home now, he could end up dead too, brutally slaughtered just like Bella.

Victor’s breath hitched, screwing his eyes shut. He couldn’t let that happen. He  _ couldn’t _ . He itched to go find Yuuri, to make sure he was away, to make sure he was safe… but he couldn’t abandon JJ. Georgi didn’t know Victor was there yet. If Victor lost him now, chances are he wouldn’t find him again until Georgi had him at gunpoint. It was too risky. 

But  _ how _ was Georgi so sure? He might have had a hunch Victor had tricked him in the village, but how was he so sure this was the house. They were careful. They put the bedding away every day, their clothes hid with JJ’s, they-

“This is his knife,” Georgi said from inside the house. “I know. I recognise the markings. Our commanding officer gave us each one.”

Victor pressed his eyes shut.

Of course - his dagger. The one he’d reluctantly handed over to JJ along with Yuuri’s pistol, kept in his desk draw upstairs. It wasn’t under lock and key. Victor knew exactly where JJ had kept it. It would have been easy to find. 

And for someone who carried the exact same blade, a gift from Yakov upon their promotion, it would be easy to recognise.

Victor didn’t know what to do.

“Where is he?!”

A thud punched behind the words - literally. Victor recognised the sound of a fist ploughing into jawbone, heard the grunt of surprise and pain from JJ. A second one followed it. They wouldn’t have been gentle.

Victor forced himself to stay still as he listened to the violence, hands curling into tight fists. His nails dug into the flesh of his palms, hard enough to bleed. It was the only thing he could do to concentrate on, to force himself still. Exposing JJ would only get him killed. He had to give them up, Victor realised. JJ had to give them up. He  _ had _ to.

“Where?!” Georgi’s voice shouted, his control starting to slip. Victor could hear the rage in his voice - Georgi always was too emotional. “Tell me!” 

“I don’t know!”

Victor winced as staggering footsteps clattered into the kitchen, metal clanging as pots fell and scattered in the chaos. More punches - one sided, if the beat was anything to go by. There was no answering blows. Of course JJ wouldn’t fight back, wouldn’t defend himself. Victor’s heart cracked at the thought, head bowing.

He slapped a hand over his mouth to mask his breathing, knowing his enemy was merely feet away. He felt wetness on his cheeks. Real fear sank into his bones again.

He’d almost forgotten what that had felt like.

A louder thud made him jump - like a body falling, crashing against the cabinets. JJ drew in a shuddering breath, so broken Victor could hear it clearly through the door.

Until it choked off.

Victor’s heart stopped as he listened, blood pounding traitorously in his ears. He strained for any sound, any indication for what was happening. The punches had stopped. Victor hadn’t heard a blow. But heard gurgling. Wet. Choking. Stuttering breaths that were clogged and pained.

His eye stared vacantly ahead at nothing, recognising that sound.  _ Blood. _ JJ was choking on his own blood. 

Victor’s hand was shaking as it uncurled and smoothed silently over the door, pressing it open a extra inch. He had to know.

He saw Georgi first - his dirty uniform crouched low over the bottom of the cabinets - over JJ’s stretched out legs. They were twitching. As Georgi sat back on his heels, Victor saw JJ’s shirt - soaked in blood. The knife stuck out mockingly from his chest, blade buried deep in his heart.

Victor felt his knees tremble beneath him in horror. He couldn’t look away - especially as Georgi leaned back more and he saw JJ’s face.

Blood stained around his mouth, face bruised and swollen from the punches. Red bubbled from his lips, slipping down his chin from the corners of his mouth. He didn’t make to move. His arms twitched helplessly beside him, knuckles unblemished, confirming Victor’s fear - he hadn’t fought back. He’d been too good to fight back, even for his own life.

Victor’s own knuckles were white around the edge of the door frame as he caught JJ’s eyes over Georgi’s shoulder, full of pain, and fear…

...and then his legs stopped twitching.

Victor’s head bowed, unable to keep looking. He scrunched his eyes shut, fighting against the pain in his chest and the sting behind his eyes. 

He’d killed them.

He’d killed them both.

It had been all his fault - he never should have stayed. He knew how risky it was, but he’d stayed anyway. He never should have let JJ talk him into it. JJ was too good, too generous. One word about Victor could have saved his life, yet he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t fought back, had accepted his fate…

And now it was Victor’s turn.

Victor could feel himself shaking, not knowing what to do. Georgi had killed them. He could kill Victor too. He probably  _ would  _ kill Victor too - and Yuuri, if he was unfortunate enough to come home in time. Victor would never forgive himself if he let Georgi do to Yuuri what he’d done to JJ and Bella, such kind, innocent people murdered…

The hated burned in his chest, teeth gritting tight around his fist. His breaths were coming sharper now, heavier, louder. If Georgi heard-

_ Victor would kill him. _

He barged his shoulder into the back door and flung it wide open, throwing himself across the kitchen at Georgi. Georgi barely turned in time to see his attacker, eyes flashing wide over his shoulder.

Victor didn’t care.

He didn’t care about decency. He didn’t care about rules of combat. He didn’t care about honour. All he cared about was the feeling of clambering over his dead friend’s legs in the struggle and how much it  _ hurt _ not to feel them kicking him back, hands closing around his old friend’s neck.

As Georgi’s back hit the floor, Victor saw his face for the first time in months. His friend had changed. His face was scruffy, his usual quiff outgrown and ragged, falling in dirty dregs down his face, and his usually bright blue eyes bloodshot. He looked deranged, half mad. Did hunting Victor Nikiforov do that to a person? They wanted him dead so badly, this was the cost Yakov was willing to pay?

The thought steeled him. Nothing would stop Yakov, Victor realised. It wasn’t just duty that they were hunting down for, it was personal revenge. He’d betrayed them. Nothing would stand in the way of their vengeance.

Not even civilians, it seemed.

A lump burned hot and heavy in the back of Victor’s heart, fire racing through his veins every time he felt JJs’ lifeless leg lay still against his, every time he glimpsed the pool of Bella’s blood an inch from the doorway…

His hands tightened around Georgi’s neck, watching with satisfaction the way his eyes bulged in their sockets.

They looked mad.

Perhaps Victor was the mad one. He felt insane - maybe this was finally his end, the beginning of his spiral into madness. It was always said that murder would do that to a man. Perhaps Victor’s demons had finally caught up with him, ready to drag him down into Hell itself.

He’d see Georgi there first though.

He’d never choked a person before. It was harder than he’d thought. He struggled with his knees to pin Georgi’s thighs, fighting to keep his grip around his throat against the fingers clawing at his hands. Blood streaked where nails broke skin. Victor didn’t feel the pain - it was drowned out by the ache in his arms, in his shoulders, throwing his weight into holding Georgi down. 

He gasped at the effort, hands aching. He felt like he was the one being choked; his chest was tight and his breaths came in short sharp bursts, chills running down his spine and making the tiny hairs on his arms stand on end. His eyes stung.  _ Tears _ , he realised as he watched droplets splash down on Georgi’s cheek beneath him. 

Victor’s lip trembled, the anguish blazing through his veins almost more than he could bear. For all the murders he’d committed, for all the people he’d killed… Victor knew this one would be his undoing. There was no redemption from this.

They’d finally turned him into the monster they’d always wanted him to be.

Victor wanted to scream.

His hands hurt - scratches and cuts littered over his fingers and the tendons stood on end, grip still unrelenting. Georgi’s crazed eyes stared up at him accusingly from his red face, spluttering uselessly, veins straining at his temples. Victor felt something cower inside him at those eyes bearing into him, watching the emotions flicker through them one last time. He wanted to stop. He desperately wanted to stop.

But he couldn’t. 

The fingernails bearing into his skin started to soften.

The kicking slowed from beneath his knees. 

The light slowly dampened in those deranged wide eyes, Georgi’s gritted teeth going slack as his face softened, his hands falling away from Victor’s.

Still though, Victor didn’t let go. Even when the eyes rolled back in Georgi’s skull, Victor didn’t stop. 

He couldn’t - he could still feel the pulse racing beneath his fingertips, body fighting to keep the blood flowing, to keep the air moving - to stay alive. Victor gritted his teeth, blinking his eyes against the tears blurring his vision. A wailing hit his ears, pain scrambling down his throat - it took him a second to realise that the wail was him, hands starting to tremble below him.

By the time the frantic thrumming under his fingertips had stopped, all Victor could hear was ringing in his ears. 

Finally, his grip slackened.

Georgi’s glazed over eyes swayed as Victor leaned back, head lolling helplessly and arms lying still at his sides. Victor just stared, feeling cold. He could feel himself shaking.

He was a monster.

He heard himself gasp more than he felt it, felt the pins and needles in his fingertips more than he felt the kick against Georgi’s unresponsive limbs as he staggered back. He didn’t stop until his back thudded against the kitchen wall, nowhere else to run, forcing him to face his reality. His heart pounded, lump in his throat like it was choking him. He could still see Georgi’s eyes in his mind, the glassy eyes echoing his own reflection back at him mercilessly.

It was nothing like firing a gun. It was nothing like the plunging of a knife. Victor had killed Georgi with nothing but his bare hands…

His legs twitched beneath him, stumbling to his feet. His knees felt weak, hand bracing against the wall to keep him upright. He kept his back to the kitchen - he couldn’t face it. He couldn’t face what he’d done again. 

He couldn’t stay there. With three bodies in the home and no way to hide them, they couldn’t stay there. Even if they could hide them, Victor wasn’t sure he could, burying the people that had only tried to help him and who he’d let be slaughtered on his behalf. He couldn’t… and that was assuming that there was no one following Georgi. He hadn’t left the village alone - he might not have come back alone either. There might be more soldiers just round the street. 

He had to go.

Victor didn’t dare look down as he staggered from the kitchen, hands following the line of the wall and refusing to look at the pool of blood just inches away from his feet. He couldn’t look. He couldn’t…

He ran. He couldn’t help it, feeling the eyes of the dead on his back, knowing it was his fault, knowing it might not even be over. Yuuri still hadn’t come home. Where was he? Maybe he was already dead? The horrifying thought made Victor’s knees buckle as he clambered up the staircase, arm bracing against the wall to catch himself. 

He didn’t stop though. He couldn’t stop. He bolted through the hallway, treading carelessly over the clothes, and books, and papers that littered the floor. Georgi had done a thorough job. The place was littered.

When Victor got to JJ’s study, it was almost unrecognisable.

The photos were ripped from the wall. The drawer was torn from the desk. Victor could barely take a step inside before he was sliding on the papers beneath his feet, grasping for the edge of the desk to keep himself upright. He stared down with wide eyes, at the one thing in the room that wasn’t thrown into chaos - Yuuri’s pistol.

It sat perfectly over the papers on the desk, flawlessly in line with the straight edges with all the respect a soldier should treat a weapon. Victor stared down at it for a moment, knuckles white around the edge of the desk.

He’d hoped he’d never need to touch the thing again…

He grabbed it from the desktop and shoved it into the waistband of his trousers, turning his eyes for his other cargo. 

He found his and Yuuri’s old backpack thrown across the room. He found their passports and fake travel papers stashed inside JJ and Bella’s mattress in their bedroom. He found the tickets for JJ’s sea journey back to England in the hallway under the overturned drawer, thrown out so carelessly. He paused before taking them - but only for a moment. After all, JJ and Bella would have no use for them now.

He slipped back down the stairs as slightly as he could, as if he could disturb the dead. He still didn’t look. He couldn’t look.

He closed the front door behind him, and took a deep breath of the fresh, evening air.

Everything looked just as peaceful as it always did. The sun was setting, the birds were chirping their evening song, everything was still and quiet as it always was in their quaint little town like nothing was wrong, like the atrocities behind JJ and Bella’s door had never happened…

_ Not theirs anymore,  _ Victor reminded himself bitterly, eyes scanning through the street. Empty. No soldiers. Fear ran stark through his veins nevertheless though, chills down the back of his spine like the devil himself was breathing down his neck. Victor touched the gun at his belt, resisting the urge to pull it out. It would give him away instantly. He needed to be subtle - enough to not draw any attention to himself as he left the village anyway. 

_ But where was Yuuri? _

He walked quick but calm, feeling like a million eyes were watching him, like a stray bullet would come hurtling through the air and end his life any second-

_ Snap. _

Victor’s courage snapped with it.

He bolted in a heartbeat, his plan going out the window. So much for slow and inconspicuous - Victor ran as fast as his body would allow him, arms pumping, legs sprinting, breaths rasping in his chest like fire shooting through his lungs. He could feel his heart in his mouth, wide eyes staring down the mercifully empty street ahead. Stealth was gone. He was running for his life. 

He barely had the wit left to think sensibly, but there was only one think for him to think about -  _ Yuuri _ . Still missing. Victor prayed he wasn’t dead, prayed he would find him. He couldn’t possibly leave without him, but the thought of stopping while the devil’s hungry eyes were on him, even to look for his most treasured companion ... Victor had never felt so afraid, even after deserting. It had never felt like this, such a hair's breadth away from death like he’d cheated it. He wasn’t sure he could stop. How could he possibly  _ stop _ ?

He looked upwards, above the rooftops, above the village - to the hills. The mountainous hilltops and dense forests that spilled out beyond the reaches of the village, where man was left behind and nature took over. 

He had to go there. He had to disappear again.

He only glanced up for a moment - but a moment was all it took to not see the figure step in front of him until it was too late.

Victor gasped - and crashed.

Pain slammed into him as he collided into the body, ribcage smacking against the other man, air choking out of his lungs from the impact, sending them both hurtling to the mercilessly solid cobbles of the path. The world span, Victor landing flat on his back with the stones digging at funny angles into his spine. He stared up at the wispy clouds above, feeling his chest ache as he sucked in a breath.

He didn’t feel a knife in his gut. He didn’t feel the wetness of blood - that was good, right? Victor was still dazed, heartbeat hammering through him relentlessly. Adrenaline was still racing through his system.

He remembered why.

His fingers tightened around the strap of the bag that had slipped from his shoulder in the fall, hitching it back upon himself with a faint hiss of pain. Something in the back of his shoulder hurt. He didn’t dare stop to test it though.

He pushed himself up and twisted round, expecting to see the red of a Russian uniform, the leather of military boots…

He found Yuuri though, blinking up at him with a pinch in his eyebrows.

Victor didn’t hesitate.

He pushed aside the roar of warmth in his chest that Yuuri was still alive, at the confused sparkle in his eyes - still innocent, still oblivious. He had no idea they were in danger, Victor realised.

He didn’t have time to explain.

He grabbed Yuuri’s arm and hauled him to his feet, already moving the second they touched ground. They didn’t have time to waste. If more soldiers were coming, time was crucial. He dragged Yuuri after him, grateful when Yuuri didn’t fight him. He was good like that. Too good. He didn’t deserve any of this…

“Run,” was all Victor said as he threw Yuuri forward, urging him on faster. He didn’t though - he paused, head turning to glance back over his shoulder. Victor shoved him before he could look though, taking his hand. “ _ Run _ !” he hissed again. “Don’t look back. Don’t look back...”

There was nothing left for them there now. They were back to the start, back to being on the run, fleeing from their fate.

They were nothing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Kawaīdesu - cute  
> Kore wa totemo sutekidesu - This is so nice  
> Watashi o oita mama ni shinaide kudasai - please don't leave me  
> Kietsutsu arimasu - it's fading

**Author's Note:**

> Keep tabs on my tumblr [here](https://justrae2010.tumblr.com/) and check out my other YOI fics [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/justrae2010/pseuds/justrae2010)
> 
> Please drop a comment before you go !
> 
> Hope you liked it!


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